The girls departed, and Zál thought the night
A year. Meanwhile they reached the palace-gate,
Each with two sprays of roses, where the porter,
On catching sight of them, prepared to chide,
And spake with sternness, hardening his heart:—
“A nice time this to be beyond the gates!
I marvel at your gadding so about.”
The Idols, when they found a word to say,
Flew out at him in their embarrassment:—
“This day is just like any other one:
There is no foul dív in the rosary.
'Tis spring. We gather roses in the garden,
And spikes of hyacinth upon the ground.
Moon-faced Rúdába bade, and so we went
Hence after roses out of love for her;
Then wherefore speak to us in such a tone
For plucking them?”
“But this is not the time,”
He said, “for pranks like these; for bear in mind
That Zál the chieftain now is at Kábul:
The land is covered with his tents and troops.
Do ye not see Mihráb at early dawn
Go from his palace-gate and mount his steed?
Why, every day he goeth to and fro
Now he and Zál have come to be such friends,
And if he saw you carrying your roses
Would have you down upon the ground forthwith.
Quit not the Haram more, and would to God
That nothing great or small may come of this.”
They went within and told the Moon in private:—
“We ne'er saw Sun like this with ruddy cheeks
And hair all white.”
Rúdába's heart inflamed
In expectation of beholding Zál.
They laid his jewels and dínárs before her,
While she minutely questioned them: “How found ye
The son of Sám? Doth he deserve his fame?”
The five, encouraged, chattered on and said:—
“Zál is the finest horseman, with such mien
And Grace—a lofty cypress of a man.
Imperial Grace and dignity are his.
What fragrance, colour, stature, limbs, he hath!
How slim a waist and what an open chest!
His eyes are twin narcissi water-blue,
His lips like coral and his cheeks like blood.
His hand and forearm are like lion's paws.
A shrewd man he, with an archmage's heart
And royal Grace! while as for his white hair
It is a blemish—but no cause for shame.
This chief of paladins hath downy cheeks,
Like cercis-bloom through silver habergeon,
No change can make thee dearer than thou art.’
We told him he should see thee; he was hopeful
When we departed. Now devise a scheme
To entertain him. Tell us what to tell him.”
She answered: “Once ye told a different tale!
This Zál, who was the nursling of a bird,
Was so white-headed and so wizened! Now
His cheek is like the cercis-bloom, and he
Is tall and handsome, and a paladin!
And ye have bragged about my face to him
And asked for payment for your gossiping.”
She spake with smiles and blushes on her cheeks,
As 'twere pomegranate-blooms, then bade one damsel:—
“Be off with you at dawn. Take him good news,
Hear what he hath to say and say to him:—
‘Thy wish is granted; be in readiness;
Come and behold thy Moon in all her charms.’”
The waiting-maid departed, gave the message,
And came back to the Cypress of Taraz.
“Devise some means to compass it,” she said,
“For God hath granted thee thy whole desire,
And may the ending be a happy one!”
Rúdába soon made ready, while her kin
Suspected naught. She had her own pavilion
Like jocund spring and decked with great men's portraits.
The servants draped it with brocade of Chín,
Set golden trays about as ornaments,
Then mingled wine with musk and ambergris
And scattered emeralds and carnelians.
Here were narcissus, violet, cercis-bloom
And rose, there lily and the jasmine-spray.
The goblets were compact of gold and turquoise,
The viands saturate with clear rose-water;
Rose fragrant odours wafting to the sun.
At dusk they locked the gate and took the key,
And then a damsel went to Zál and said:—
“All is prepared, so come.”
Thereat the chief,
All wooer-like, set out toward the palace.
Meanwhile black-eyed and rosy-cheeked Rúdába—
A cypress over which the full moon shone—
Went to the roof, and, when the son of Sám
The cavalier appeared, that high-born maid
Unlocked her coral lips and cried to him:—
“Thou art well come, O youth of noble birth!
The Maker's blessing be on thee, the arch
Of circling heaven be underneath thy feet,
And may my maid be blithe of heart and glad,
For, top to toe, thou art as she described thee.
To foot it thus from thy pavilion
Must irk thy royal feet.”
He heard the voice
And saw upon the wall a sun-cheeked damsel,
Whose beauty set the roof a-gleam like gems,
Whose blushes set the ground a-flush like rubies.
He thus made answer: “O thou moon-faced one!
My blessing and the Grace of heaven be thine.
How many nights with eyes up-turned to Spica
Have I entreated Him who ruleth all,
To let me privily behold thy face!
Now thou dost make me happy with thy voice,
Thy tender words and gentleness. Oh! find
Some means to let me look on thee! For why
Shouldst thou be on the roof and I below?”
And doffed her scarlet wimple instantly.
Then from her lofty cypress-form she loosed
A lasso, such as none could plait, of musk:
Coil within coil it was, and snake on snake;
Strand over strand it lay upon her neck.
She loosed her tresses o'er the battlements
And when they straightened out they reached the ground.
Then spake Rúdába from the wall above:—
“O paladin! O child of warrior-race!
Now speed thee quickly and gird up thy loins,
Exert thy lion-breast and royal hands.
Seize these black tresses which hang down beside me
All dedicate to thee.”
Zál gazed on her
In marvel at her hair and face. She heard
Him kiss that musky lasso oft. He said:—
“This is not well; may no sun shine when I
Shall lay a wanton hand upon my Life
And put a spearpoint to this wounded heart.”
He took a lasso from his servant, coiled
And lightly flung it in his breathless haste.
The noose caught and he mounted. Fairy-face
Advanced to welcome him, she clasped his hand,
And both intoxicate with love descended,
Gold-arabesqued—a meeting-place for kings,
A Paradise adorned—a blaze of light.
Slave-girls attended on the Houri there,
While Zál in rapt astonishment beheld
Her face, her hair, her loveliness and grace,
Her bracelets, torque, and earrings: her brocade
And jewels were like gardens in the spring;
Her cheeks were like twin tulips in a garth;
Her crispy love-locks twisted curl on curl.
Zál sat in royal grace by that fair Moon,
His dagger in his belt and on his head
A ruby coronet. Rúdába looked
And looked with stolen glances at him still;
Looked at that form, that neck, that grace, that height,
Which used to make rocks brambles 'neath his mace,
And at those cheeks whose lustre fired her soul.
The more she gazed the more her heart inflamed:
They kissed and clung intoxicate with love.
What lion hunteth not the onager?
Thus spake the chieftain to the moon-faced maid:—
“O silver-bosomed Cypress, musk-perfumed!
The Sháh will ne'er consent, and Sám will wring
His hands and storm, but still by God I swear
That I will never break my troth to thee.
Nay I will first hold soul and body cheap
And wear a shroud. I will seek God and pray Him,
With all the instancy of devotees,
To wash all opposition, wrath, and vengeance
Thou shalt become my wife before the world.”
Rúdába answered: “I too swear by Him—
The God of Faith and right—that none but Zál
Shall be my lord; the Maker is my witness.”
Their love waxed ever as the moments sped,
For wisdom was afar and passion near.
So fared they till the day began to break
And drum-call sounded. Zál farewelled his Moon,
Embracing her as warp and woof embrace.
Both wept and both adjured the rising sun:—
“O glory of the world! one moment more!
Thou needst not rise so soon.”
Then from aloft
Zál dropped his lasso and descending straight
Went from the palace of his lovely mate.
The warriors, when bright Sol rose o'er the hills,
Went to the levee of the paladin,
And then dispersed while Zál bade call the sages.
They came—the ministers, archmages, heroes
And glorious chieftains, men both wise and ardent—
Well pleased at being summoned. Zál, all smiles
And yearning, offered first his praise to God,
Then roused the archimages to attention
By thus addressing them: “Let all our hearts
Regard with fear and hope the righteous Judge,
And showeth souls the way of righteousness.
To give Him all the praise that we can give
We must bow down before Him night and day.
By Him the jocund world abideth fast,
By Him is justice done in heaven and earth.
He bringeth summer, spring, and autumn-tide
With fruit to fill the branches of the vines;
Youth hath from Him its time of scent and bloom,
Age hath from Him its time of saddened looks.
None can transgress His will and ordinance:
Without Him not an ant can walk the earth.
He bringeth increase to the world by pairs,
And not by one; there is no One but God,
Who hath not any partner, mate, or peer,
But all His creatures hath He made in pairs.
This was His scheme—earth and its good for man;
But save for pairing we had never known
Its possibilities. Again, we never
See youth unmated stable in the Faith,
And thirdly, men though of a mighty stock
Unmated lose their vigour. What can show
More goodly than a chief of paladins,
Whose soul is gladdened by his progeny?
He at life's close will have a New Year's Day
In children who will keep his memory thus:—
‘This is the son of Zál the son of Sám.’
Thus crown and throne are graced; the father's time
Being over fortune resteth with the son.
All these apply to mine own case, and are
The roses and narcissi of my garden.
The remedy for this. I have not spoken
Before I suffered both in brain and wits.
The palace of Mihráb—I love it all!
His land is heaven to me forwhy my heart
Rejoiceth in the daughter of Síndukht.
What say ye now? Will Sám too be rejoiced?
And will Sháh Minúchihr, if he shall hear,
Regard it merely as a youthful error?
All—great and small—in marrying but obey
The laws of Faith and custom. No wise man
Will bar what honour and religion sanction.
What do the prescient archimages say?
What are the sages' views?”
They held their peace
Because Zahhák was grandsire to Mihráb,
And Minúchihr detested both. None dared
To answer, none had heard of antidote
And bane combined. Their silence grieved the chief,
Who tried another plan: “I know,” said he,
“That ye will blame the course that I adopt,
But every one who chooseth for himself
Is certain to incur no lack of blame.
If ye can show me what to do, and how
I may undo this coil, ye shall be treated
As subjects ne'er were yet, my goodness, kindness,
And uprightness shall keep you from all ill.”
The archimages, well disposed toward him,
And we are much amazed. But who will be
The better or the worse on this account?
Although Mihráb is not of equal rank
Yet is he mighty, brave, and rich, albeit
Sprung from the Dragon's stock—the Arabs' king.
Write thou to Sám as thy shrewd mind suggesteth,
Who hast more wisdom, thoughtfulness, and wits
Than we, and he may write the Sháh a letter
Explaining his own views, and Minúchihr
Will be advised by Sám the cavalier
And every obstacle will disappear.”
The chieftain bade a scribe to come, poured forth
His heart and wrote a letter of good cheer,
And first he praised the Maker and the Judge,
“The Source of joy and might, the Lord of Venus,
Of Sol and Mars, of being and not being.
We all of us are slaves and God is One.
May He bless Sám the son of Narímán—
The lord of mace, of scimitar, and helm,
Whose black steed boundeth in the dust of fight,
Who glutteth vultures when he maketh war,
Who raiseth tempests on the battle-field,
Who sheddeth gouts of blood from murky clouds,
And setteth kings upon their thrones of gold.
His bravery achieveth feat on feat
And they exalt his name. There liveth not,
Nor ever will, a cavalier so brave.
His thrall am I and love him heart and soul.
He saw how I was born, and ills have come
Since then upon me from the rolling sky.
My father wore luxurious furs and silks;
Me the Símurgh bare to a mount in Ind.
Fain was I that the bird should bring me prey
And number me among its little ones.
My skin was scorched by blast, mine eyes were stopped
With dust. They used to call me son of Sám
Though he was on a throne, I in a nest,
Since God ordained and made this way for me.
None scapeth His ordainment though one fly
Among the clouds, gnaw spearheads, rend the hides
Of lions with his shouting, yea although
His teeth are anvils he is still God's slave.
A thing hath happened which I cannot tell
To every one, and I am broken-hearted,
Howbeit a sire, though fierce and dragon-like,
Should hearken to the secrets of his child.
My tears are for the daughter of Mihráb,
I am as if consumed in raging fire,
The stars are my companions in the night,
My breast is like a sea, I lose my wits
So that my people weep; yet though sore troubled
I will not draw a breath but at thy word.
Oh! free my mind from this distress and grief!
The archimages have advised me thus:—
‘Let not the chieftain keep his Jewel hidden
But act with loyalty.’ My sire perchance
Will second me herein that I may make
The daughter of Mihráb my lawful wife.
My father will remember that when God
Restored me to him out of Mount Alburz
He pledged his word in presence of his men:—
‘I will not frustrate one wish of thy heart.’
Now this it is whereon my heart is set.”
A horseman left Kábul at lightning-speed
To go to Sám and took a second horse,
For Zál directed: “Should one roadster founder
Stay not to breathe but lightly mount the other
And hurry on to Sám.”
The messenger
Went, like the wind, upon a steed of steel.
When he was drawing near the Kargasárs,
Sám, who was hunting on a range of hills,
Beheld him from afar and told his comrades:—
“There cometh from Kábul a messenger
Upon a white steed of Zábulistán,
Sent doubtlessly by Zál, so let us learn
His news.”
The man approaching kissed the ground,
With many thanks to God. Sám welcomed him
And took the letter, while the man discharged
While coming from the mountains, paled and halted
In wonder not expecting or commending
Zál's conduct. “Yet,” he thought, “'tis natural:
One nurtured by a bird would hanker thus.”
When he returned he pondered long and deeply,
And said: “If I shall say, ‘This is not well,
Oppose me not, incline to wisdom's ways,’
Both God and man will blame my breach of faith.
If I say, ‘Yes,’ and ‘Thy desire is good:
Do as thou wilt,’ what will their offspring be—
This nursling of the fowl and that dív's child?”
He laid him down in grief but could not rest.
The harder any servant's task, the more
His heart is heavy and his suffering sore,
The greater peace and comfort shall he know
Within when God Almighty willeth so.
Sám when he woke asked the astrologers:—
“How will this end, for these two elements,
Like fire and water, are opposed completely?
Such surely on the Judgment Day will be
The warfare of Zahhák and Farídún.
Consult the stars, vouchsafe me your advice,
And put your pen-point to a lucky sign.”
To Sám with smiles, for opposites combined
In his behalf, and an astrologer
Said: “Hero of the golden belt! we bring
Good news about the daughter of Mihráb
And Zál, for they will be a glorious pair,
Whose son will prove a mighty Elephant,
Will gird his loins with valour, overcome
The world, will set the Sháh's throne on the clouds,
Cut from the ground the feet of evil doers
And leave them not a lurking-place on earth,
Spare no Sagsárs,279 spare not Mázandarán,
But make the earth clean with his massive mace.
Through him Túrán shall suffer greater woe,
Through him Írán shall gain unbounded weal,
Through him the aching head shall rest, and he
Shall shut the door of war, the path of mischief.
The Íránians shall have hope in him, through him
The paladin shall have good news and joy.
The charger that he urgeth in the fight
Shall trample on the face of warrior-pards.
The realm in his days shall be fortunate,
The age accept his name among the kings,
While Rúm, Ind, and the country of Írán
Shall grave it on their signets.”
Sám gave ear
And smiled as they congratulated him.
He gave them gold and silver past all count
Since peace had come in time of fear. He called
The messenger, conversed with him and said:—
“Speak gently unto Zál and say: ‘Thy wish
Hath nothing in its favour, but since I
Have pledged my word I must not seek a pretext
To-morrow for Írán to ascertain
The Sháh's commands, and how God shall dispose him.’”
He gave a largess to the messenger
And said to him: “Arise and tarry not.”
They bound a thousand of the Kargasárs
And dragged them off afoot in shame and woe.
Toward dawn the horsemen's shouts rose o'er the plain,
Rose too the sound of drums and clarions
About the entrance of the tent-enclosure,
And Sám marched to Írán by Dahistán.
The messenger returned to Zál in triumph
With omens of success. When he arrived
He told Sám's answer. Zál was well content
And offered praises to Almighty God
For this great mercy and his blissful fate.
He lavished on the poor drachms and dínárs
And showed especial kindness to his kindred,
Invoking blessings on the chieftain Sám
For having sent a gentle answer back.
He could not rest by day or sleep by night,
He drank no wine, desired no minstrelsy;
His heart was always yearning for his bride;
He could not talk of any one beside.
A dame of honied speech was go-between
And bore the lovers' greetings to and fro.
Zál called this woman, told about his sire,
And said to her: “Go to Rúdába. Say:
To grievous straits we quickly find a key
For their enlargement. Now the messenger
Hath come from Sám rejoicing with good news.
Sám hummed and hawed but in the end consented.’”
Zál sent his father's letter by the woman,
Who hurried with the good news to Rúdába.
That fay-faced damsel showered drachms upon her,
Placed her upon a gold-embroidered seat
And for her news gave her a change of raiment;
Then brought an Indian turban woven so finely
That warp and woof were not distinguishable,
With patterns wrought thereon in gold and rubies,
So that the gold was hidden by the gems.
This, and a costly finger-ring to match,
As bright as Jupiter, she sent to Zál,
With many greetings, many messages.
Síndukht observed the woman in the hall
And cried: “Whence art thou? Speak! Dissemble not!
Thou passest in and out from time to time
Without regard to me. I much suspect thee.
Wilt thou not say if thou art string or bow?”
And answered thus: “A needy woman I,
Who have to get my living as I can;
I visit houses of the gentlefolk
Who purchase clothes of me and jewelry.
Rúdába wished to buy rich gems and trinkets;
I brought to her a gold adorned tiara
And hoop of royal gems.”
Síndukht said: “Show them
And quench my wrath.”
“I left them with Rúdába,”
The woman answered, “and am fetching more.”
“Show me the purchase-money,” said Síndukht,
“And set my heart at rest.”
The woman answered:—
“The moon-faced lady told me she would pay
To-morrow. Wait until I have the money.”
Perceiving that she lied Síndukht used force,
Searched up her sleeves and found her knavery.
Síndukht discovering Rúdába's ring
And costly stuffs was very wroth, and catching
The woman by the tresses flung her down
Haled her in shameful plight along the ground,
Then let her fall, and bound and spurned and smote her.
The queen returned in dudgeon to the palace,
O'erwhelmed with disappointment, pain, and grief,
Shut herself in and was as one bemused.
She sent to call her daughter and the while
Kept buffeting her face, and from her eyes—
Those wet narcissi—bathed her burning cheeks;
Then to Rúdába: “O thou noble Moon!
Why choosest thou the ditch and not the throne?
In what respect can I have failed to teach thee
Propriety in public and in private?
My pretty! wherefore hast thou wronged me so?
Tell mother all thy secrets—who despatched
This dame to thee and why. What is all this?
Who is the man for whom this splendid turban
And finger-ring are meant? In that great treasure—
The Arabían crown—much good and ill was left us.
It had a name. Wilt fling it to the winds?
May mother never bear a child like mine!”
Rúdába looked away and hung her head
In overwhelming shame before her mother,
And tears of love descending graced her cheeks.
“O most wise mother!” thus she made reply,
“Love hunteth down my soul, but I had wrought
No good or ill hadst thou not borne me first.
The chieftain of Zábul is at Kábul,
And love of him so fireth me, and things
Have come to such a pass within my heart
That, if in others' presence or alone,
I weep and only live to see his face.
One hair of his is worth the world to me.
And that we hand in hand have plighted troth.
We did but see each other—nothing more—
And lo! a fire sprang up betwixt us twain.
A messenger was sent to mighty Sám
And he hath given his valiant son an answer.
Though vexed at first he grew amenable
And gave large presents to the messenger.
By means of her whose hair thou didst pluck out,
And whom thou didst fling down and hale along
Upon the face, I have read all his letter:
This stuff was my reply.”
Síndukht was lost
In wonder, glad that Zál should wed Rúdába,
But said: “This is no trifle. Zál is peerless
Among the chiefs for valour, he is great,
Son of the paladin of paladins,
With all the virtues, and a single fault
Which dwarfeth them—the Sháh will be displeased
And send the dust up sunward from Kábul.
He wisheth not that any of our race
Should e'er mount saddle.”
Then, to make it seem
That she had been mistaken, she released
The woman and made much of her, and said:—
“Act ever thus, discreet and clever dame!
Shut fast thy lips. God grant they never prove
A chink for speech. Now hide this in the dust.”
She saw her daughter's secret bent was such
That she would listen to advice from none,
And laid her down in tears and in chagrin;
Thou wouldst have said that she had burst her skin.
Mihráb, much gratified by Zál's attentions,
Returning found Síndukht upon her couch
Pale and distressed; he asked her: “What hath
happened?
Speak! Wherefore are thy rosy lips thus faded?”
She said: “I have been musing for a while
About these goodly treasures and this wealth,
These Arab steeds caparisoned, this palace
So noble and its pleasure-grounds, the friends
Who cheer our hearts, these servants of my lord,
Our favour and our stature cypress-tall,
Our fame, our knowledge, and our policy.
In time our pride and glory must abate;
We yield them to the foe; our toil is wind;
A narrow bier is ours at last. We plant
A tree whose antidote is bane to us,
We water it laboriously and hang
Thereon our crown and wealth, but when it mounteth
Sunward and giveth shade its lusty head
Descendeth to the dust. With this before us
I know not where we ever shall find rest.”
Mihráb replied: “Thou tellest an old tale:
It is the fashion of this Wayside Inn.
One is abased, another flourisheth,
One cometh in, another goeth out;
Canst thou see one whom heaven hunteth not?
Fret as we will our woes remain; we cannot
Contend against the All-just Judge.”
She answered:—
“The wise would take a very different view
Of what I said. Now can I hide from thee
A secret such as this and these grave doings?
A blessèd wise archmage once told his child
The parable of the tree which I adopted
In hope my lord would understand the meaning.”
She hung her head and bent her cypress-form,
Her eyes dropped dew upon her rosy cheeks.
“O full of wisdom,” she went on to say,
“The sky must not revolve above us thus.
Know that the son of Sám hath striven to snare
Rúdába and misled her ardent heart.
Now 'tis for us to find a remedy.
I have exhorted her without avail;
Her heart I see is troubled, her face wan.”
Thereat Mihráb sprang up and seized his sword,
His cheek grew livid and his body shook
With rage; his heart was full, he groaned and cried:—
“Her blood shall flow for this.”
Síndukht sprang too,
Clasped him about the waist, and cried: “Now hear
Thy handmaid speak one word, then do what heart
And wisdom counsel thee.”
He shook her off
And bellowed like a maddened elephant:—
“I should have cut her head off at her birth.
I left her grandsire's way and let her live;
Now she hath wrought on me this devilry.
The son who walketh not his father's path
Is but a bastard in a brave man's eyes.
Thus said the leopard grown keen-clawed for strife:
My sire inherited the taste from his.
Life must be risked when honour is in sight;
Why strivest thou to stay me from the fight?’
If Sám and Minúchihr shall get a handle
Against us smoke will go up from Kábul,
Seedtime and harvest cease throughout the land.”
She said: “O marchlord! do not speak so wildly.
Sám knoweth all: be not so greatly moved.
He left the Kargasárs for this: all know it.”
Mihráb replied: “Fair dame! deceive me not.
Could one imagine wind obeying dust?
I care not I so thou canst keep us scathless.
A better son-in-law than noble Zál
There cannot be as all know, great and small.
Who is there from Ahwáz to Kandahár
That wisheth not to be affined to Sám?”
She said: “Great prince! ne'er may I be enforced
To use deceit with thee; thy harm is mine;
I share thy sorrows. What I said is true
And it was on my mind. I had at first
Myself the same misgiving, which is why
Thou sawst me lying down absorbed in grief;
But if this is to be 'tis not so strange
As to occasion this anxiety.
Sarv of Yaman pleased Farídún; prince Zál
Is not unmindful of that precedent.
By mingling fire with water, air with earth
Earth's dark face is made bright.”
She brought Sám's answer,
And said: “Rejoice! Thou hast thy wish. When
strangers
Affine with thee thy foes grow black of face.”
Though vengeful still and greatly moved Mihráb
Gave ear, then bade her: “Rouse and bring Rúdába.”
Síndukht, in terror lest that lion-man
Should lay her daughter dead upon the dust,
Replied: “First promise to restore her to me
Unscathed, and that Kábulistán shall still
Possess this Rosary like Paradise.”
The chieftain promised, but he said: “Now mark!
The Sháh will meditate revenge for this.”
Síndukht did reverence, bending to the ground;
Then with her lips all smiles and face that showed
The dawn beneath the night went to her daughter
With this good news: “The warrior-leopard's claws
Have spared the wilful onager. Now hasten!
Take from thy face thine ornaments and go
Before thy father, weeping bitterly.”
Rúdába answered: “What are ornaments?
What are these worthless trinkets to my wealth?
My soul is wedded to the son of Sám;
Why hide what is so plain?”
Then went she in
Before her father, like a rising sun,
And overwhelmed in gold and jewelry.
She was a Paradise adorned and fair,
Like shining Sol in jocund spring. He said:—
“O witless one! would virtuous folk approve
That Áhriman should have a fairy-bride?
May neither crown nor finger-ring be thine.
If but a serpent-charmer from Kahtán
Turned Magian we should slay him with an arrow.”
Whenas Rúdába heard her father's words
Her heart grew full, her face like fenugreek.
She let her dark eyelashes droop and veil
Her melancholy eyes and scarcely breathed,
Her father all the while with furious heart
And full of menace roaring like a pard.
With blood returning to her pallid cheeks
His love-sick daughter went back to her chamber,
Where with her mother who had gained the day
She prayed Almighty God to be their stay.
News of the friendship of Mihráb and Zál
And of that noble ill-matched pair of lovers
Reached Minúchihr. The matter was discussed
Before him by the archmages. Said the Sháh:—
“A dismal time will come on us hereby.
Did Farídún purge this world of Zahhák
That at Kábul Mihráb—his seed—might flourish?
Restore the drooping plant to its old vigour.
If from the daughter of Mihráb, and Zál,
The son of Sám, a sharp Sword should be drawn,
On one side he will be an alien,
And how shall antidote agree with bane?
While if he favoureth the mother's side
His head will be possessed by evil projects,
He will fulfil Írán with strife and travail
In hope to win the crown and treasure back.
What is your rede? Strive to advise me well.”
Then all the archimages blessed the Sháh,
They hailed him as the king of the Pure Faith,
And said: “Thou art more wise than we and hast
More power to act. Let wisdom be thy guide,
And wisdom's quarry is the Dragon's heart.”
The Sháh, desirous to conclude the matter,
Sent for Naudar, with lieges and great men,
And bade him: “Go to Sám the cavalier,
Ask: ‘What hath been thy fortune in the war?’
And having seen him say: ‘Come hither first,
And journey home from us.’”
Naudar set forth,
And valiant Sám, informed of his approach
Went with the paladins to welcome him
With mighty elephants and kettledrums.
The hero Sám rejoiced to see the prince,
Who gave his father's message. Sám replied:—
“I will obey and joy to look on him.”
For that day they remained the guests of Sám,
The sight of whom rejoiced the company;
They spread the board, they took the cup in hand,
And first they drank the health of Minúchihr,
Then of Naudar, and then of Sám and all
The chieftains, not forgetting any province.
The livelong night was spent in revelry,
But with the sunrise rose the din of tymbals;
The speedy dromedaries spread their wings289 And toward the palace of Sháh Minúchihr
They went as bidden. When he heard thereof
He had the palace of the Sháhs prepared.
Then from Sárí and from Ámul rose din,
As when a fierce sea heaveth, for the spearmen
Marched in their mail with heavy darts, a host
That reached from range to range, with shield on shield,
Whose red and yellow blent, with tymbals, pipes,
Gongs, Arab horses, elephants, and treasures.
On such a fashion marched that armament
With flags and kettledrums on welcome bent.
Sám reached the court, alit and was received
In audience by the Sháh, at sight of whom
He kissed the ground, and then approached the
presence;
While Minúchihr, encrowned with sparkling gems,
Beside him, showed the chieftain all observance
And questioned him at large and anxiously
About the Kargasárs, about his troops,
About the fierce dívs of Mázandarán.
The chief told all and said: “Live happy ever,
O Sháh! Ne'er may foe's malice touch thy life.
I marched upon that land of valiant dívs,
And such dívs too, like lions in the fight,
More swift than Arab horses and out-daring
The warriors of Írán! The fierce Sagsárs—
Pards in the fray—concerned at mine approach,
Sent up the battle-cry within their cities,
And all turned out to fight—a mighty host,
From mountain unto mountain naught but men,
So that the bright day vanished in the dust.
All eager for the fray they came upon me,
Came with a reckless rush! A panic fell
Upon my troops. ‘How shall I bear,’ I thought,
‘This anguish?” and I saw not; for the brunt
Had fallen then on me. I roared against them,
I whirled a mace that weighed three hundred mans290 And urged mine iron steed. I came among them
And brained them till the foe was panic-stricken.
The grandson of the valiant worldlord Salm,
As 'twere a wolf, was foremost of them all.
The youth was named Karkwí, a lofty Cypress,
The heads of nobles were but dust to him.
His army thronged like locusts or like ants
And hid dale, plain, and mountain. When the dust
Rose from that great host, and my troops turned pale,
I reared the mace whereof one blow sufficeth
And led the army on. I raised a shout
That made earth seem a millstone to the foe,
While all my host was heartened and resolved
To battle on. Karkwí, who heard my voice,
And blows down-crashing from mine iron mace,
Came like a monstrous elephant against me
To battle, carrying a mighty lasso,
And sought to catch me in its noose, but I
Was ware and moved me from destruction's path.
I took a royal bow and poplar arrows
With points of steel, and urging on my charger
To eagle's speed I showered shafts like fire
And deemed his helm pegged to his anvil head
Until I saw him coming mid the dust,
Like some mad elephant, with Indian sword
In hand. Methought, O Sháh! that e'en the mountains
Would cry to him for quarter! He pressed on,
And I held back to tempt him to come near;
Then, when he closed with me, reached from my grey,
Seized on the girdle of that mighty man
And like a lion wrenched him from his saddle;
Then like a maddened elephant I dashed him
Upon the ground so that his bones were shivered.
Their prince o'erthrown his soldiers fled the fight;
Were crowded everywhere, while of the fallen
Upon the field we reckoned up ten thousand
Of horse and foot. Troops, citizens, and horsemen
Were verily three hundred thousand strong;
But weighed against thy fortune what are foes
Confronted by a servant of thy throne?”
The Sháh, on hearing what his chieftain said,
Raised to the moon his glorious diadem,
Bade hold a festival and saw with joy
The world freed from his foes. The night passed quickly
In revelry and praises of the chieftain.
At dawn the Sháh held audience. Sám drew near
And having done obeisance sought to speak
About Mihráb and Zál, but was prevented
By Minúchihr, who said with angry looks:—
“Depart with chosen chiefs, burn Hindústán,
The palace of Mihráb, and all Kábul.
Let not Mihráb escape; he is a remnant
Left of the Dragon's seed, and filleth earth
Smite off their heads, and purify the world
Of all the kith and kindred of Zahhák.”
Sám dared not speak, so wrathful was the Sháh,
But kissed the throne, then gently pressed his face
Against the famous signet and replied:—
“My conduct shall acquit the Sháh of vengeance.”
Then with his host he sought his own abode
On steeds that went like wind along the road.
Mihráb and Zál had news of what had passed
Between the Sháh and Sám, Kábul was moved,
And cries rose from the palace of Mihráb.
Now when Síndukht, Mihráb, and e'en Rúdába
Despaired of saving either life or goods,
Zál left Kábul, exclaiming as he went
With drooping mien yet resolute withal:
“The Dragon grim whose breath would burn the world
Must take my head off ere he touch Kábul.”
In great concern he hasted on his journey,
With much to think about and much to say.
News reached brave Sám: “The Lion's Whelp hath
come.”
The troops bestirred themselves and got in readiness
The flag of Farídún. They beat the tymbals,
And chief and host went out to welcome Zál
Of yellow, red, and violet. Zál, on seeing
His father's face, alighted and approached
Afoot, as did the chiefs of both the hosts,
And brave Zál kissed the ground. Sám spent a while
In converse with his son, who then remounted
His chestnut Arab, like a hill of gold,
While all the chiefs approached him in concern.
“Thy father is displeased with thee,” they told him;
“Make thine excuse and be not obstinate.”
He said: “I fear not, for man's end is dust.
My sire if sane will not unsay his words,
And if at first he speaketh angrily
Will after weep for shame.”
They reached Sám's court
With much good cheer. He lighted and gave audience
To Zál, who kissed the ground before his sire
With ruffled feathers,293
offering praise while tears
Fell from his eyes and washed his rosy cheeks.
“Glad be the paladin's shrewd heart,” he said,
“And may his spirit be the slave of justice.
Thy falchion scorcheth adamant, earth weepeth
When thou art fighting. Where thy charger pranceth
The lagging soldiers haste, and verily
Where heaven hath felt the storm-blast of thy mace
It dareth not array its host. All earth
Of wisdom is a seedling of thy stock.
All joy in thy just dealing; earth and time
Receive it at thy hands. So do not I;
I have no share though thine acknowledged kinsman.
I am the dust-fed nursling of a bird
And know no feud with any, and no fault
To give occasion to an enemy
Save this, that Sám the hero is my sire
And mine accomplishment beneath such birth.
Or ever I was born thou didst expose me
Upon the mountains, harrowing my mother,
And giving to the flames a thriving child.
I saw no cradle and no breast of milk,
I had no memory of any kindred,
For thou didst cast me out, deprive my heart
Of peace and tenderness, and strive against
The Maker, for who maketh white and black?
Now since the Maker hath provided for me,
And looked upon me with a Master's eye,
Skill, manhood, and a hero's sword are mine
And one friend too, himself the crown of chiefs,
The brave, wise, prudent monarch of Kábul.
I sojourned at Kábul by thy command
And mindful of thy counsel and thy pledge.
Thou saidst: ‘I ne'er will vex thee, but will bring
The tree that thou hast planted into fruit,’
Yet bringest this gift from Mázandarán,
And hastest from the Kargasárs to further
The ruin of my home: such is thy justice!
My body to thy wrath. Saw me asunder,
But utter not a word against Kábul.
Do as thou wilt; the power is all thine own,
But mischief to Kábul is done to me.”
The chief attended to Zál's words, then bowed
His head and answered:—“'Tis all true, and I
Have dealt with thee unjustly from the first
And given foes occasion to rejoice.
What thou hast asked me is thy heart's desire
And in thy trouble thou couldst find no rest;
Yet be not rash, let me despatch the business.
I will indite a letter to the Sháh
And send it by thy hand, my loving son!
The worldlord will not seek to do thee harm
When he shall see thy prowess and thy looks,
And I have wooed his heart and soul to justice.
If he shall aid us thou wilt be contented,
Because the lion always hath the power
To gain its ends, and everywhere alike
Can seize upon the quarry.”
Thereupon
Zál kissed the ground with many a benison.
Sám wrote at large and set forth every plea.
The letter opened with the praise of God,
Who is established in His seat for ever:—
“From Him are good and evil, life and death:
We all of us are slaves and God is One.
The process of the sky is over all
That He—the Lord of Saturn, Sun, and Moon—
Hath willed. His blessing be upon the Sháh—
In fight an antidote-consuming bane,
In feast a moon that lighteneth the world—
Who brandisheth the mace, who stormeth cities,
Who giveth unto each his meed of joy,
Who marcheth with the flag of Farídún
To war, and slayeth haughty warrior-leopards.
The lofty mountain shattered by thy mace
Becometh dust upon thy proud steed's hoofs,
While thy pure heart and stainless Faith constrain
Both wolf and sheep to water at thy cistern.
A slave am I whose race is run, a slave
Who hath attained to sixty years twice told.
My head is strewn with camphor-dust—a crown
That sun and moon have given me. I girt
My warrior-loins and slaved. I fought the warlocks.
None e'er saw296
horseman rein his steed, fell chiefs,
Or wield a mace like me. My mighty mace
Eclipsed the warriors of Mázandarán.
Did naught beside exalt me over all—
There was a dragon haunting the Kashaf
And making earth afoam. It reached from city
To city and from hill to hill, the hearts
Of all were filled with panic: men kept watch
Of flying fowl and earth of beast of prey.
It scorched the vulture's feathers with its blast,
Set earth a-blazing where its venom fell,
Dragged from the water gruesome crocodiles,
And swiftly flying eagles from the air.
Men and four-footed beasts ceased from the land;
The whole world gave it room. So seeing that none
Dared to lay hand upon it, in God's strength
I banished terror from my heart, girt up
My loins in His exalted name, and rode
Mine elephantine steed. My saddle bore
Mine ox-head mace, upon mine arm I carried
My bow, and at my neck my shield. I went
Forth like a savage crocodile. My hand
Was keen, keen too the dragon's breath, and all
Farewelled me when they saw me wield my mace.
I came. The dragon seemed a lofty mountain
And trailed upon the ground its hairs like lassos.
Its tongue was like a tree-trunk charred, its jaws
Were open and were lying in my path.
Its eyes were like two cisterns full of blood.
It bellowed when it saw me and came on
In fury, seeming all afire, O Sháh!
Within. The world 'gan swim before mine eyes,
A black reek went up to the murky clouds,
Earth's surface shook beneath the bellowing,
The venom seemed to be a sea of Chín.
Then like a gallant warrior I roared
Against that dragon, as a lion roareth,
And tarried not, but fitted to my bow
A poplar arrow tipped with adamant
And shot it at the dragon's jaws, to pin
The tongue against the throat; the tongue lolled pinned;
The dragon was astound. Again I shot,
Again I pierced the mouth; the creature writhed.
I shot a third shaft right adown its jaws;
Its heart's blood spouted seething. When it closed
And in the strength of God, the Lord of all,
Urged on mine elephantine steed and smote
The dragon's head: thou wouldst have said that heaven
Rained mountains down thereon. I smashed the skull,
As it had been a mighty elephant's,
And venom poured forth like the river Nile.
So struck I that the dragon rose no more
While earth was levelled to the hills with brains.
Kashaf was flowing like a stream of gall
And all was peace. The mountain-tops were thronged
With folk who called down blessings on my head,
Because that dragon was a fearful bane.
On this account men called me ‘One blow’ Sám,
And all threw jewels o'er me. I departed
With all my shining body bare of mail;
My charger's armour dropped from him in pieces;
I sickened with the venom many days.
There was no harvest in those parts for years
Nor aught except the ashes of burnt thorns.
To tell my conflict with the dívs would make
The letter tedious, but in that and elsewhere
I trampled underfoot the heads of chieftains,
And wheresoe'er I rode my wind-foot charger
I cleared that region of the rending lion.
And now this many a year my saddle's back
Hath been my throne, my charger been mine earth.
My massive mace hath brought beneath thy sway
Mázandarán and all the Kargasárs;
I ne'er have asked for field or fell but sought
To make thee both victorious and happy.
My breast and loins are bent; I used to throw
A lasso sixty cubits long, but now
Am bent by time and have resigned my duties
To Zál, as worthy of my mace and girdle.
Like me he will destroy thy foes and make
My heart glad with his prowess. He hath come
To ask the Sháh to grant his secret longing,
One excellent in God's sight, apart from Whom
There is no excellence. We have not moved
Therein as yet but wait the great king's will,
For slaves must not presume. My lord the Sháh,
The guardian of the world, hath surely heard
How once and publicly I promised Zál,
When I was bringing him from Mount Alburz,
Not to refuse him aught, and he hath come,
Besmeared with blood and dust, and bones in bits,
With his request. He said: ‘'Twere better far
To hang Ámul298 than fall upon Kábul.’
But when a fowl-fed outcast on the mountains
Seeth in Kábulistán so bright a Moon—
A Cypress slim crowned with a rosary—
It is no wonder if he goeth mad,
Nor ought the Sháh to visit it upon him.
All pity him, his pangs of love are such!
His many undeserved afflictions borne
Evoked the promise that the Sháh hath heard,
And I have sent him with a heavy heart.
When he shall come before thy lofty throne
Do that which is most consonant with greatness;
There is not any need to teach thee wisdom.
Him and him only have I in the world
From Sám the son of Naríman be blessings
A thousand fold upon the king of kings
And on the lords.”
When all things were prepared
Zál took the letter hastily, arose,
Went forth and mounted mid the blare of trumpets.
A troop of warriors went with him to court
At speed. Thus from Zábulistán299
went he
While “One blow” Sám enjoyed his rosary.
When these events299a
were bruited at Kábul
Mihráb in fury called Síndukht and vented
His rage against Rúdába on his wife.
He said: “The only course for me, since I
Must yield before the monarch of the world,
Is to take thee with thy polluted child
And slay you shamefully and publicly.
Thereat perchance the Sháh will be appeased
And earth grow peaceful. Who within Kábul
Would dare to strive with Sám or feel his mace?”
Síndukht sank down before him and considered.
Then having hit on an expedient,
For she was shrewd and subtle, came before
The sunlike king with folded arms and said:—
If thou hast wealth to purchase life bestow it,
And know thou that this night is big with fate.
Yet though night seemeth long 'twill pass, and earth
Be like a signet-ring of Badakhshán.”
Mihráb replied: “No old wives' tales to warriors!
Say what thou know'st and use all means for life,
Or else array thee in the robe of blood.”
She said: “There is no need of that, great king!
But I must go to Sám to draw this sword
And to appeal to him in fitting terms,
For wisdom is the cook when speech is raw.
To labour for our lives is my part, thine
To find the presents and entrust to me
Thy hoarded wealth.”
“Here is the key,” he said,
“One must not always grieve at spending treasure.
Prepare slaves, horses, thrones, and casques to go.
We yet may save our country from the flames
To shine though faded now.”
Sindukht replied:—
“If thou desirest life hold treasure cheap.
While I avert the danger thou must use
No harshness toward my child. My greatest care
Here is her life; give me a pledge for that.
I care not for myself; all my concern
And travail are for her.”
She took his pledge,
Then boldly faced the danger, clad herself
All in brocade of gold with pearls and jewels
About her head, and from the treasury took
Three hundred thousand pieces as a largess.
Or Persian with their silvern equipage;
And sixty slaves with golden torques, each bearing
A golden goblet brimmed with camphor, musk,
Gold, turquoises, and jewels of all kinds;
One hundred female camels with red hair,
One hundred baggage-mules; a crown of jewels
Fit for a king, with armlets, torques, and earrings;
A throne of gold like heaven, all inlaid
With divers sorts of gems, the width thereof
Was twenty royal cubits and the height
The stature of a noble horseman; lastly
Four mighty Indian elephants to bring
Bales full of wearing-stuffs and carpeting.
The treasures having been despatched she mounted
In warrior-guise, swift as a lightning-flash,
Assumed a Rúman helm and rode a steed
As swift as wind, approached Sám's court unknown
And bade the officers announce her thus:—
“An envoy from Kábul hath come to seek
The mighty chief, the hero of Zábul,
Charged with a message from Mihráb to Sám,
The winner of the world.”
The chamberlain
Went to tell Sám, who granted audience.
Síndukht dismounted, hasted to the chief
And of the chief of paladins. The largess,
The slaves, the horses, and the elephants
Stretched from the gate two miles. She offered all
To Sám, who sat there dazed, like one bemused,
With folded arms and drooping head. He thought:—
“Come female envoys from so rich a country?
If I accept the Sháh will be displeased;
If I decline then Zál will be chagrined
And flap his wings about like the Símurgh.”
He raised his head and said: “As for these goods,
These slaves and elephants caparisoned,
Go give them to Zál's treasurer as presents
Sent by the Beauty of Kábulistán.”
Then fairy-faced Síndukht essayed to speak,
Rejoicing that her offerings were accepted
And all had ended well. Three of her handmaids,
With idol-faces, tall as cypresses
And fair as jasmine, bearing each a goblet
Which brimmed with pearls and rubies, poured them out
In one promiscuous shower before the chieftain.
This done and strangers gone she said to Sám:—
“Thy counsel maketh old folk young. Thou teachest
The world. Thou hast sealed up the hand of ill
And opened with thy mace the way of God.
Mihráb, if any, was to blame, and he
Is weeping blood. What have our people done
That thou must raze Kábul? They only live
To do thy hest—slaves of the very dust
Upon thy feet. Fear Him who hath created
Both mind and might, bright Venus and the Sun.
He would not countenance such acts from thee:
Gird not thy loins for bloodshed.”
Sám replied:—
“Come tell me what I ask and palter not.
Art thou the slave or consort of Mihráb,
Whose daughter Zál hath seen? Tell me that I
May judge her worthiness, her mind and temper,
Her face, hair, stature, looks, and understanding—
Whatever thou hast noted tell me all.”
Síndukht replied to him: “O paladin,
The chief of paladins, the warriors' stay!
First swear an oath whereat the land shall quake
That thou wilt never injure me or mine.
I have a palace, wealth, and mighty kindred.
First reassure me and I will reply
Our hoarded treasures to Zábul.”
Sám grasped
Her hand and took the oath, on hearing which,
And marking that his speech and pledge were frank,
She kissed the ground, then rose and told him all:
“My race is from Zahhák, O paladin!
Spouse to Mihráb, that ardent warrior,
Am I, and mother of moon-faced Rúdába,
Of her o'er whom Zál poureth out his soul.
We and our kin before all-holy God
Bless all night long the Sháh, and thee, and Zál.
I come to know thy will, and how thou holdest
Us in Kábul. If we be bad by race
And sinners all unfit for rule, behold!
I stand before thee sorrowing. Slay thou
Who should be slain and bind who should be bound,
But as for all the guiltless of Kábul
Burn not their hearts nor turn their days to darkness.”
The paladin on hearing saw in her
A woman of counsel and of ardent soul,
With cheeks like spring, in height a cypress-tree,
With reed-like waist and pheasant's gait. He said:—
“My pledge shall hold although it cost my life.
Live safely and rejoicing at Kábul
With all thy kindred. I assent that Zál
Shall wed Rúdába. Though our race is other
Than yours, yet ye deserve the crown and throne;
The world so waggeth and no shame to us;
We cannot strive against the Almighty Maker,
Who doth whate'er He willeth in such wise
That we are ever crying out: ‘Ah me!’
And while one fareth well another quaketh.
The heart of one is furnished by his increase,
Another's minished by his poverty,
But after all the end of both is dust—
The element that slayeth every race.
I will exert myself on thy behalf
Because of thine appeal and bitter cry,
And have already written to the Sháh
A letter with the plaint of one in pain,
And Zál hath gone with it. Hath gone! nay rather
Hath flown! He saw no saddle when he mounted,
And then his roadster's hoofs saw not the ground!
The Sháh will smile and give a gracious answer,
For this bird's fosterling is out of heart;
He standeth in the mire made by his tears,
And if his sweetheart is as fond as he is
Their skins will never hold them. Prithee now
Let me behold the Dragon's child, just once,
On thine own terms. The sight may weigh with me
If both her looks and locks commend themselves.”
She answered: “If the paladin will gladden
His slave, let him vouchsafe to visit her:
Her head will reach high heaven. If to Kábul
We bring a king like thee, we will present
Our lives as offerings.”
She saw his smiles
And that all hate was rooted from his heart
As he replied: “Be not concerned; this matter
Will shortly turn out to thy wish.”
Síndukht
Then asking leave withdrew, and went away
In full content, her cheeks like gems for joy.
To tell Mihráb: “Be easy in thy mind,
Rejoice and make thee ready for a guest.
I follow quickly.”
Next day, when the sun
Shot up and heads awoke from drowsiness,
Saluted as the Moon of noble dames,
Síndukht proceeded to the court of Sám,
Did him obeisance, spake with him at large,
And asked permission to go home rejoicing
To tell Mihráb about the new-made league,
And get all ready to receive their guest.
Sám said: “Depart and tell him everything.”
They chose choice gifts for her and for Mihráb,
And for Rúdába too—that lovesome maid.
Sám gave Síndukht withal all that was his
Within Kábul of palaces and gardens,
Of tilth, milch cattle, carpets and apparel,
Then took her hand, re-swore his oath and said:—
“Be happy at Kábul, and fear no foe.”
With favouring stars the pale Moon's face again
Grew bright, and she went homeward with her train.
Now hearken how Zál fared with Minúchihr—
“Zál, son of Sám the cavalier, hath come.”
The nobles went to welcome him. On reaching
The court he had an audience and did homage,
Remaining with his face upon the ground.
The kind Sháh's heart was won; he bade to purge
Zál's face of dust and sprinkle him with musk,
And, when the well-beloved approached the throne,
Inquired: “How didst thou fare mid wind and dust
On thy hard journey, child of paladins?”
Zál answered: “Through thy Grace 'twas more than well;
“Thou turnest every trouble to delight.”
The Sháh then took Sám's letter, read and smiled.
“Thou hast increased an ancient grief of mine,”
He said, “yet for thy father's touching letter,
Which ancient Sám hath written in his trouble,
Although the matter hath much grieved my heart,
I am resolved to think of it no more,
And will perform and carry out thy wish,
Since that is all to thee; but tarry here
While I deliberate on thine affairs.”
The cooks brought in a service all of gold
Whereat the king of kings sat down with Zál,
And ordered all the chieftains to partake
The feast. The eating done, they served the wine
Within another throne-room, and that over
Zál mounted on his charger with gold trappings,
And so departing passed the livelong night
With much to think and talk about. At dawn
He came with girded loins to Minúchihr
And praised him privily when he had gone.
The Sháh commanded that the archimages,
The nobles, wise men, and astrologers,
Should meet at his high throne and read the stars.
They met and laboured for three days and then
Announced: “We have perused the circling sky,
And this is what the stars prognosticate:—
‘No stagnant pool is here. There will arise
From Sám's son and the daughter of Mihráb
A hero full of prowess and fair fame.
His life will be prolonged for centuries;
He will have strength, renown, and Grace, pluck, brains,
And thews, and not a peer in fight or feast.
Where'er his charger's coat shall run with sweat
The liver of his foemen shall run dry.
The eagle will not soar above his helm;
Naught will he reck of chiefs and men of name.
He will be tall in stature, great in might,
Will take the lion with his twisted lasso,
Will roast whole onagers upon the fire,
Will make the air weep with his scimitar,
Will be the belted servant of the Sháhs
And shelter of the horsemen of Írán.’”
Then said the exalted Sháh: “Beware that ye
Disclose to none what ye have told to me.”307
The Sháh called Zál to prove him by hard questions.
The shrewd archmages and the men of lore
Sat in full conclave, and examined him
On many matters veiled in mystery.
One asked that man of insight, wit, and knowledge:—
“What are the dozen cypresses erect
In all their bravery and loveliness,
Each one of them with thirty boughs bedeckt—
In Persia never more and never less?”
The second said: “O noble youth! explain—
What are those two steeds moving rapidly:
As crystal bright is this one of the twain
And that one sable as a pitchy sea;
They gallop at their utmost speed and strain
Each one to catch the other, but in vain?”
The third said thus: “What are the thirty men
Who ride before their king in order meet
And seem but twenty-nine to thee, but when
Thou countest them their number is complete?”
The fourth inquired: “What is the meadow-land,
Where streams abound and herbage groweth strong,
To which a fierce man cometh, in whose hand
There is a scythe, a sharp one and a long:
He cutteth all the grass both green and dry,
And if thou criest heareth not thy cry?”
“What are those cypresses—a lofty pair—
Like reeds above a sea whose waters heave,”
Another asked, “and what bird nesteth there
On this at morning, and on that at eve?
The bird departeth and the leaves turn pale,
The bird arriveth and they musk exhale.
Together, but one sere, the other green.”
The sixth said: “On a mountain I descried
A city that was strongly fortified.
The citizens, those men exceeding wise,
Preferred thereto a thornbrake on the waste;
And there as monarchs or as subjects placed
A town with buildings lifted to the skies.
The memory of the city now hath gone,
'Tis not accounted of by any one;
But some day suddenly the earth will quake,
The country vanish from the sight of men,
Remembrance of the city will awake,
And long regret possess the citizen.
Now look behind the veil, explore the words,
And if thou canst the secret sense unfold,
Declare it here in presence of the lords,
And make the purest musk from grimy mould.”
Zál for a while remained absorbed in thought,
Then shook his plumage, spread his wings, and
answered:—
“First as to those twelve cypresses which rear
Themselves, with thirty boughs upon each tree:
They are the twelve new moons of every year,
Like new-made monarchs, throned in majesty.
Upon the thirtieth day its course is done
For each; thus our revolving periods run.
Thou speakest of two chargers, black and white,
Which like Ázargashasp go flashing by:
These too are periods, and in their flight
Pursue each other unremittingly.
The two that pass along are night and day,
The pulses of the sky are reckoned so;
They never catch each other as they go,
But follow as a hound pursueth prey.
That ride before their king in order meet,
And seem to thee as twenty-nine, but when
Thou countest them their number is complete.
They are the phases of the moon; one night
A phase from time to time eludeth sight.
Unsheathe we now the hidden sense expressed
By two tall cypresses, a bird and nest.
The darker limb of heaven is opposed
With Aries to Libra in the height;
Thence till the reign of Pisces hath been closed
The ascendant limb is that of gloom and night.
Each lofty cypress-tree denoteth one
Of these two limbs which cause our smiles and tears,
The bird which flieth 'twixt them is the sun—
Occasion to the world of hopes and fears.310 Again, the city built upon the mount
Is our long home, the scene of our account.
This Wayside Inn is meant by Thornbrake town,
At once our pleasure, treasure, pain and woe:
It reckoneth each breath drawn here below
And both exalteth us and casteth down.
A storm ariseth, earth's foundations quake,
Extorting from the world a bitter cry;
We leave our toils behind us in the brake
And seek the city that is built on high.
Where we have toiled another hath the gain,
But not for ever: he will not remain.
'Twas always so; to look for change is vain.
If our provision be an honoured name
Our souls will be on that account held dear,
That will, when we have breathed our last, appear.
Albeit we have raised to Saturn here
Our mansion we shall have a shroud instead,
No more. The dust and bricks close o'er our head
And all is consternation, awe, and fear.
As for the meadow-land, and him whose keen
Scythe is a terror both to green and dry,
Who cutteth all alike, both dry and green,
And if thou criest heareth not thy cry—
Time is the mower; we are like the swath;
The grandsire and the grandson are the same
To him, not making young or old his aim,
But chasing each that cometh in his path.
The use and process of the world are so:
No mother's son is born unless for death.
By this door we arrive, by that we go,
And time meanwhile accounteth every breath.”
When Zál had thus expounded all the riddles
The company both wondered and rejoiced,
While Minúchihr, glad-hearted, cried: “Well done!”
He had forthwith a banquet-hall prepared,
As 'twere the moon at full, and there they quaffed
Wine till the night fell, and the revellers' heads
Became bemused. Then at the portal rose
Shouts for the steeds, and glorious in their cups
The warriors grasped hands and went their ways.
Now when the sunshine struck the mountain-tops
And lion-like, approached the royal presence
For leave to hie him home, and thus he said:—
“My gracious lord! I long to see Sám's face.
Since I have kissed the footings of thy throne
Of ivory thy Grace and crown illume
My heart.”
The Sháh said: “Youthful warrior!
Thou must bestow upon us still one day.
Thou yearnest for the daughter of Mihráb
And not for Sám.”
He bade to carry gongs
With Indian bells and clarions to the ground,
And all the warriors went forth rejoicing
With lances, maces, and artillery.
They took their bows and poplar shafts and let
A mark stand for the foe. They wheeled and showed
Their horsemanship with mace, sword, shaft, and lance,
While from a height the Sháh, seen or unseen
By them, observed their skill, but never saw
Or heard of horsemanship like Zál's. There stood
Upon the ground an ancient tree. Zál took
His bow, urged on his steed, and raised his name
By striking that tall tree and piercing it
Full in the centre with the royal shaft.
Then certain of the javelin-men took bucklers
And exercised with double-headed darts.
Zál bade his Turkman slave bring shields of hide,
Drew himself up and urged his steed along,
Then dropped his bow, took his own javelin
And made new sport. He struck and pierced three shields
And flung them to one side in high disdain.
Will challenge him to prove his weight in combat?
He hath knocked dust out of two-headed darts
And arrows.”
Then the warriors donned their mail
With wrathful hearts and curses on their tongues.
They pricked forth to the combat bearing spears
With heads of tempered steel. Zál urged his steed,
Made the dust fly, and, when the battle joined,
Selected from the rest a cavalier
Of fame and high estate at whom he charged.
The warrior turned and fled. Zál, leopard-like,
Emerging from the dust, seized on his belt
And took him from his saddle with such ease
That both the Sháh and army were astound,
The chiefs exclaiming: “None will see his peer.”
The Sháh said: “May he ever be thus ardent.
The mother of the man that dareth him
To battle will wear mourning for her son.
The lionesses bear not one so brave,
So brave … he must be classed with crocodiles!
And Sám is blessed indeed to leave the world
Such a memorial.”
He praised the youth,
As did the famous warriors. Then they went,
With girded loins and casques upon their heads,
Toward the palace where the Sháh prepared
A robe of honour that astonished all
The chieftains, with a precious crown and throne
Of gold, with armlets, torques, and golden girdles,
Rich robes, slaves, steeds, and other things of worth,
And gave the whole to Zál, who kissed the earth.
The Sháh then wrote a very gracious letter
To Sám: “Renowned and valiant paladin,
In all emprise victorious like a lion,
And peerless in the sight of turning heaven
For feast, for fight, for counsel and for favour!
That glorious son of thine—brave Zál—at whom
The lion is aghast in battle-tide,
The brave accomplished warrior and horseman
Of lasting fame, hath come, and I, on learning
Thy wishes and his longings, granted him
All his desires, and count upon his having
A long and glorious life. Should leopard-hunters
Have other issue than the strong-clawed lion?”
Exalted o'er the rest and in high favour
Zál sent to Sám to say: “I left the Sháh
With all that I could wish—a royal robe
Of honour, crowns, torques, armlets, and a throne
Of ivory, and am coming with all speed,
My loving, glorious sire!”
Sám gladdened so
That his hoar head grew young. He hurried off
A horseman to Kábul to tell Mihráb
Such joy, and added: “After Zál's return
We will set out to pay thee our respects.”
The messenger sped forth. Mihráb on hearing
So joyed to make Kábul's Sun his affine
That through his joy the dead returned to life
And agèd heads grew young. They summoned minstrels,
And one had said that all poured out their souls.
With smiling lips and joyful heart he called
High-born Síndukht and beaming said to her:—
“My consort, whose advice is prosperous!
Thy counsel hath illumed our gloomy dwelling.
Thou hast laid hand upon a sprout whereto
The monarchs of the world will do obeisance.
Since thou hast ordered matters from the first
Thine be it also to accomplish them.
My treasury is all at thy disposal
For what is needed—throne, or crown, or wealth.”
Síndukht on this withdrew and gave her daughter
The news, and joyful hopes of seeing Zál.
She said: “Thy choice of partner is most fit,
And men and women, howsoever strict,
Will see good cause to let their strictures cease.
Thou hast sped quickly to thy heart's desire.”
Rúdába answered: “Consort of the king!
Thou meritest the praise of every one.
I make the dust upon thy feet my pillow,
And order my religion by thy teaching.
May eyes of Áhrimans be far from thee,
And be thy heart and soul the house of feasting.”
Síndukht on hearing this bedecked the palace,
Mixed wine and musk and ambergris and spread
Gold-broidered carpets, some inwoven with emeralds
And others patterned out in lustrous pearls;
Each several pearl was like a water-drop.
She placed a golden throne within the hall,
So do they use in Chín. The tracery
Was all of gems with carvings interspersed,
The feet were jewelled: 'twas a royal throne
And very splendid. She arrayed Rúdába
Like Paradise, wrote on her many a charm
And seated her, allowing none to enter
Within that chamber arabesqued with gold.316 Kábulistán was dight in festal trim,
All colour, scent, and wealth. They housed the backs
Of the elephants with rich brocade of Rúm
And seated on them minstrels wearing crowns.
All was prepared for welcoming the guests
And all the slaves were summoned to strew musk
And spicery, to put down furs and silks,
To fling down gold and musk, and sprinkle round
Wine and rose-water on the dusty ground.
Zál sped like bird on wing or ship at sea
And all that heard of his approach went out
To welcome him with joy. The palace rang
With shouts: “Zál hath succeeded and returned.”
Sám met him joyfully and held him close
He kissed the ground and told his news. Anon
Sám, seated on his splendid throne with Zál,
Blithe-hearted and in great content, began
To tell about the matter of Síndukht,
And kept his countenance: “A woman named
Síndukht brought me a message from Kábul,
And made me promise not to be her foe.
I granted all that she was pleased to ask—
First that the future monarch of Zábul
Shall have the Beauty of Kábul to wife,
And next that we will go and be her guests
To heal all sores. Now she hath sent to say:—
‘All things are ready, scented and adorned.’
What answer shall we send high-born Mihráb?”
Then Zál blushed ruby-red from head to foot
With sudden joy, and said: “O paladin!
If it seem good to thee send on the troops
And let us follow and discuss the matter.”
Sám smiled at Zál, aware of his desire,
For he could talk of nothing but Rúdába,
And got no sleep at nights for thinking of her.
Sám bade to sound the gongs and Indian bells
And have prepared the royal tent-enclosure.
He sent a cameleer, a valiant man,
To advertise the lion-like Mihráb:—
“The chieftain is upon his way with Zál
And elephants and troops escorting them.”
His cheeks grew ruddy as the cercis-bloom.
He sounded trumpets, mounted kettledrums,
And furnished forth his army like the eye
Of chanticleer. Huge elephants and minstrels
Made earth a Paradise from end to end.
What with the many flags of painted silk
Of divers colours, sound of pipes and harps,
The blast of trumpets and the din of gongs,
One would have said: “It is a festival,
The Resurrection or the Last Great Day.”
Thus went Mihráb till he encountered Sám,
He then dismounted and approached on foot.
That paladin of paladins embraced him
And asked if all were well. Mihráb began
To compliment both Sám and Zál, then like
The new moon rising o'er the mountain-tops
He mounted his fleet steed and set a crown
Of gold and jewels on the head of Zál.
Conversing of the past they reached Kábul.
What with the clang of Indian bells, the sounds
Of lyre and harp and pipe, one would have said:—
“The roofs and doors make music. Times are changed!”
The horses' manes and forelocks ran with saffron
And musk. Then with three hundred female slaves
With girded loins, each with a cup of gold
Which brimmed with musk and gems, Síndukht approached,
And all blessed Sám and showered forth the jewels.
Each person present on that happy day
“How long wilt thou conceal Rúdába thus?”
Síndukht replied: “If thou wouldst see the Sun
What is my fee?”
Sám answered: “What thou wilt:
My treasures, crown, throne, country—all are thine.”
They sought the chamber arabesqued with gold,
Where all was jocund Spring, and Sám, entranced,
Struck dumb, and dazzled, viewed the moon-faced maid.
At last he said to Zál: “Thou lucky youth!
God greatly helped thee when this glorious Sun
Set her affections on thy face. Thy Choice
Is choice indeed!”
By Sám's desire Mihráb
Approached to execute the legal contract.
They placed the happy couple on one throne
And scattered emeralds and carnelians.
Her coronet was wrought of gold and his
Of royal gems. Mihráb produced and read
The inventory of his daughter's dowry
Till one had cried: “'Tis more than ear can hear.”
Sám was confounded when he realised
The treasures, and invoked the name of God.
Then hall and city revelled for a week,
The palace was a Paradise in raptures,
Slept for a sennight either day or night;
Then going to the palace from the hall
They spent three weeks in joy, while all the nobles
With armlets on stood ranked outside. One month
Elapsed and Sám departed to Sístán.
Zál spent a happy week in getting ready
Steeds, howdahs, litters; for Rúdába's use
A curtained couch. Síndukht, Mihráb, and all
Their kin set off first for Sístán, glad-hearted,
With minds at ease and lips all praise to God,
Who giveth good, and there arrived triumphant,
Illuminating earth with joy and laughter.
Sám had a feast prepared. Three days were spent
In revelling, then while Síndukht remained
Mihráb returned attended to Kábul,
While Sám gave up the realm to Zál and led
His army westward 'gainst the Kargasárs,
With flaunting flag and favouring auguries.
“I go,” said he, “because those fields are mine,
Though not men's hearts and eyes. I have the patent
From Minúchihr. ‘Have and enjoy,’ he said.
The dívs above all of Mázandarán.
I give to thee, O Zál! this state, this realm,
And glorious crown.”
Sám of the single blow
Departed, leaving Zál upon the throne,
A happy husband holding festivals,
And when Rúdába sat beside her spouse
He placed a crown of gold upon her brows.
Ere long the noble Cypress was in bearing,
Delightsome Spring grew sere, her heart was sad,
She wept blood for the burden that she bore.
Gone was her cercis-bloom, her cheeks were saffron.
Síndukht said unto her: “Life of thy mother!
Why hast thou grown so wan?”
Rúdába answered:—
“By night and day I cry for help. I lie
Sleepless and withered like a living corpse.
My time hath come but not deliverance.”
Until that came she lacked both rest and sleep.
One would have said: “Her skin is stuffed with stones
Or iron.” Now one day she swooned, and shrieks
Rose from the halls of Zál. Síndukht bewailed,
And tore her face. Then one announced to Zál:—
“The leaves have withered on thy lofty Cypress,”
And he with tearful cheeks and stricken heart
Approached the couch whereon Rúdába lay.
The female slaves were tearing out their hair
Unveiled with tearful faces. Then occurred
A thought to Zál which eased him of his anguish—
The plume of the Símurgh.320 He smiling told
Síndukht, then brought a censer, kindled fire
And burnt some of the plume. The air grew dark
And that imperious bird swooped down—a Cloud
Whose drops were pearls … pearls, say I, rather peace.
Zál did obeisance long and praised her much.
She thus addressed him: “Wherefore is this grief,
This moisture in the mighty Lion's eye?
From this moon-faced and silver-bosomed Cypress
Will come a noble babe. The mighty lion
Will kiss the dust upon his feet. No cloud
Will dare to pass above him. When he shouteth
The pard will split its skin and gnaw its paws.
The warriors that see his whizzing mace,
His chest, his arms and neck, will hear his voice
With quaking hearts, steel-eaters though they be
And gallant fighters; for this child will prove
In counsels and in rede a weighty Sám,
In height a cypress-tree, in wrath a lion,
In strength an elephant, and fillip bricks
So willeth He who giveth good. Bring thou
A blue-steel dagger, seek a cunning man,
Bemuse the lady first with wine to ease
Her pain and fear, then let him ply his craft
And take the Lion from its lair by piercing
Her waist while all unconscious, thus imbruing
Her side in blood, and then stitch up the gash.
Put trouble, care, and fear aside, and bruise
With milk and musk a herb that I will show thee
And dry them in the shade. Dress and anoint
Rúdába's wound and watch her come to life.
Rub o'er the wound my plume, its gracious shade
Will prove a blessing. Let this gladden thee.
Then go before the Lord who hath bestowed
This royal Tree which ever blossometh
Good fortune. Be not troubled for this matter,
Because thy fertile Bough will yield thee fruit.”
She spake, and plucking from her wing a plume
Dropped it and flew aloft. Zál picked it up
And did, O marvel! as the bird had said,
While every one looked on amazedly
With wounded spirit and with bloodshot eyes.
Síndukht wept tears of blood in torrents, asking:—
“How shall the infant come forth through the side?”
There came an archimage, one deft of hand,
Who made the moon-faced dame bemused with wine,
And having turned the infant's head aright
Delivered her uninjured. None had seen
A thing so strange. The babe was like a lion,
A hero tall and fair to look upon.
Both men and women wondered at him, none
Had heard of such an elephantine child.
A day and night the mother lay asleep,
Bemused, unconscious. They the while sewed up
The wound and eased the anguish with the dressing.
When she awoke and whispered to Síndukht
They showered gold and jewels over her
And praised the Almighty. Then they brought the babe
To her, extolling him as heavenly.
The first day thou hadst called him twelve months old—
A very heap of lilies mixed with tulips.
The lofty Cypress smiled upon the babe,
Perceived in him the Grace of king of kings,
And, “I am magnified,” she said, “and grief
Is over.”
So they named the infant “Rustam.”322
They made of silk a herolet the size
Of that unsuckled Lion, stuffing it
With sable's hair and limning Sol and Venus
Upon the cheeks, with dragons on the arms,
And on the hands a lion's claws. Beneath
The arm there was a spear, mace in one hand
And bridle in the other. They set the puppet
This done they sent on first a cameleer
Apace, showered drachms on those who were in charge,
And took the puppet mace in hand to Sám.
In all the country round they held high revel,
The desert was supplied with pipe and wine.
Inside Kábul Mihráb enjoyed the tidings
And showered dínárs upon the mendicants,
While in Zábul the revellers sat together
Without distinction as to high and low,
But mixed like warp and woof.
They brought the puppet
To Sám the cavalier, who looked thereon,
Grew glad and well content. That hero's hair
Stood up on end. “This silken thing,” said he,
“Is just like me. If he is half this size
His head will touch the sky, his skirt the ground.”
He called the messenger and poured drachms o'er
him
Until the heap was level with his head.
The drums beat in the court for joy, Sám decked
The champaign like the eye of chanticleer
And bade adorn the land of the Sagsárs
Called minstrels and showered drachms on mendicants.
A week passed and the famous chieftain wrote
A letter like the meads of Paradise
To Zál. He offered praises first to God
That matters had turned out so happily,
Praised Zál the lord of mace and scimitar,
Then coming to the effigy of silk,
Which had a hero's neck and Grace of kings,
Enjoined: “So cherish him that not a breath
May hurt him. I have prayed by day and night
In secret to Almighty God to show me
A son born of thy seed and of my type.
Now that the backs of both of us are straightened
We only need to pray that we may live.”
Came like a rushing wind the messenger
To Zál of ardent and exulting heart,
Told him of Sám's delight and gave the letter.
As soon as Zál had heard those pleasant words,
Which caused the clear-brained hero added joy,
He raised his neck to touch the azure sky.
Thus went the world with Zál and showed its purpose.
Ten nurses suckled Rustam, for from milk
Are strength and constitution. Being weaned
He lived on bread and flesh. He ate as much
As five, and people turned from such repasts.
A Star whereat the world was all agaze—
Thou wouldst have said: “'Tis valiant Sám indeed
In stature, wisdom, countenance, and rede.”
Sám heard: “The son of Zál is like a lion,
None ever saw a child so fierce and stalwart.”
His heart was stirred in him, and he resolved
Himself to see the boy. He left in charge
The captain of the host and went with escort,
Drawn by his love, toward Zábulistán.
Then earth grew ebon, for Zál heard the news,
Bound on the drums and went with brave Mihráb
To welcome Sám. When Zál had dropped the ball
Shouts of departure rose on every side.
The mass of men stretched out from hill to hill,
With buckler after buckler red and yellow.
Then trumpeted the elephant and neighed
The Arab steed, five miles that din resounded.
They had one mighty elephant caparisoned
And furnished with a golden throne, whereon
The son of Zál sat with his cypress-form,
And what a neck and shoulders! crowned and girt,
With bow and shafts in hand, and shield before him.
Mihráb and Sám dismounted, and the elders
Fell prostrate, calling blessings down on Sám,
Whose face bloomed like a rose. With gladdened heart
He smiled to see the child so strongly built—
A lion's whelp upon an elephant.
He had them brought just as they were, surveyed
The boy thus crowned and throned, and blessed him, saying:—
“Live long and happily, thou matchless Lion.”
Then Rustam kissed Sám's throne and, wonderful
To tell! saluted him in this new fashion:—
“Great paladin! rejoice. I am thine offshoot:
Be thou my root. The slave of Sám am I,
But am not one for banquet, dream, and ease,
I would have steed and saddle, mail and helm,
Despatch my compliments by bolt and arrow,
And by God's bidding trample on foes' heads.
My face is like to thine, so be my courage.”
He lighted. Sám the chieftain grasped his hand
And kissed his head and eyes. Meanwhile the tymbals
And elephants were still. Then full of glee
And revelled merrily on golden seats,
Thus resting for a month with harp and song.
Upon the throne there sat victorious Sám,
An eagle's feather drooping from his crown,
Flanked by his son and Rustam mace in hand,
On whom the grandsire gazed amazedly,
Invoked o'er him the name of God and thought:—
“With such a neck and arms, such thews and shoulders,
Such reed-like waist, such ample chest and breast,
Such thighs like those of mighty dromedaries,
Such lion's heart and lion-tiger might,
Such goodly features, neck, and Grace, he hath
No peer on earth,” then said to Zál: “Although
Thou question back a hundred generations,
No one would know of babe delivered thus.
How could they do the thing successfully?
A thousand times may that Símurgh be blest
To whom God showed the way. Now let us revel
And put to flight with wine the soul of care,
For this world is a caravanserai,
Old guests depart and new ones take their places.”
They put the wine about and grew bemused,
They drank the chieftain's health, then that of Zál.
Mihráb kept quaffing till he thought himself
The one man of the world. “I do not care
For Zál or Sám,” he said, “Sháh, crown, or Grace.
I, Rustam, and my steed Shabdíz, and sword …
No cloud will dare to overshadow us.
I will revive the customs of Zahhák,
And make the dust beneath my feet pure musk.
He spake in jest,
And Zál and Sám were merry at his words.
Sám, when the month was o'er, one day at dawn
Returned to his own throne. He said to Zál:—
“My son! be just and loyal to the Sháhs,
Preferring wisdom over wealth, refraining
Thy hands from evil all thy years, and seeking
God's way from day to day. Know that in public
And private also 'tis the one thing needful
Because the world will not abide with any.
Observe my rede and walk in righteous ways.
My heart forebodeth that my time hath come.”
He bade his children both farewell and said:—
“Forget not mine advice.”
Then in the palace
The bells rang out, and on the elephants
The clarions blared, as with his gentle tongue
And kindly heart Sám journeyed toward the west.
His children bore him company three stages
With minds instructed and with tearful cheeks,
Then Sám went on while Zál marched to Sístán
Spent day and night in bout and revelry.
It came to pass that as they spent a day
In revel in a garden with their friends,
While harp-strings ran the gamut of sweet sounds
And all the chiefs were one in merriment,
They quaffed red wine from crystal cups until
Their heads were dazed, and then Zál bade his son:—
“My child of sun-like Grace! make ready robes
Of honour for thy warriors, and steeds
For those of high degree.”
So Rustam gave
Gold, many Arab steeds caparisoned
And other gifts, and all went richer home.
Zál, as his wont was, sought the bower, while Rustam
Reeled to his chamber, laid him down and slept.
Shouts rose outside his door: “The chief's white
elephant
Hath broken loose, and folk are in its danger!”
He heard, and urged by hardihood ran forth,
Snatched up Sám's mace and made toward the street.
The keepers of the gate opposed him, saying:—
“We fear the chieftain, 'tis a darksome night,
Thy going forth?”
Wroth at the speaker's words
The matchless Rustam smote him on the nape:
His head rolled from him. Rustam turned toward
The others but they fled the paladin,
Who boldly went up to the gate and smashed
The chains and bolts with blows that well befitted
One of such noble name, went forth like wind
With shouldered mace excitedly, approached
The mighty beast and roared out like the sea.
He looked and saw a Mountain bellowing,
The ground beneath it like a boiling pot,
Saw his own nobles fleeing in dismay,
Like sheep that spy a wolf, roared like a lion
And went courageously against the beast,
Which seeing him charged at him like a mountain
And reared its trunk to strike, but Rustam dealt it
A mace-blow on the head; the mountain-form
Stooped; Mount Bístún shook to its core and tumbled
At one blow vile and strengthless. Thus it fell,
That bellowing elephant, while matchless Rustam
Went lightly to his place again and slept.
Now when the sun ascended from the east,
Bright as the cheeks of those who ravish hearts,
Zál heard of Rustam's deeds, how he had knocked
The dust out of the roaring elephant,
Had with a single mace-blow broken its neck
And cast its body to the ground. He cried:—
“Woe for that mighty elephant, which used
To bellow like the dark blue sea! How often
Yet conquer howsoe'er it might in battle
My son hath bested it!”
He summoned Rustam,
Kissed him upon his head and hands and neck,
And said: “O lion's whelp! thy claws have grown
And thou art brave indeed! Youth as thou art
Thou hast no peer in stature, Grace, and valour;
So ere thy spreading fame shall thwart thine action
Take vengeance for the blood of Narímán.
Speed forth to Mount Sipand where thou wilt see
A cloud-capt stronghold four leagues square, whereover
The eagle hath not soared. 'Tis full of herbage
And water, gold and money, men and beasts.
Both trees and husbandmen abound there; none
Hath seen a place like that. The All-Provider
Hath furnished workmen of all sorts, and fruit-trees.
There is but one approach; 'tis through a gate
As high as heaven, and Narímán, who bore
The ball from all the chiefs, approached the stronghold
By order of Sháh Farídún and held
The road. The siege went on both night and day
With stratagems and spells above a year,
Until the foe hurled down a rock and earth
Possessed the paladin no more. The host
‘The valiant Lion hath had fight enough,’
He wailed with growing grief, and having mourned
A week in anguish called the host together.
He marched against that hold with troops that covered
The waste and desert, and for months and years
Beleaguered it in vain. None issued forth
And none went in, but though the gate was shut
So long the foe lacked not a stalk of hay,
And Sám forewent his vengeance in despair.
Now is the time, my son! for artifice.
Go with a caravan in merry pin,
So that the watchmen may not find thee out,
And when thou occupiest Mount Sipand
Destroy those evil-doers, root and stem.
Since thou art yet unknown thou mayst succeed.”
Then Rustam answered: “I will do thy bidding
And soon provide a physic for the ache.”
Said Zál to him: “My prudent son! give ear.
Don camel-drivers' clothes and from the plain
Fetch camels to make up a caravan.
Disguise thyself and carry naught but salt,
For that is precious there. The folk know nothing
Of greater value. Though the castle towereth
Above its gate they have no salt to eat,
So all will run to greet thee when they see
Loads of it coming unexpectedly.”
Then Rustam made him ready for the fray,
And took some wise and valiant men withal.
He hid the arms within the camels' loads
And merry at the artifice sped on
To Mount Sipand. When he arrived the watchman
Saw him and hastened to the castellan.
“A caravan,” he said, “with many drivers
Hath come, and if my lord doth ask their business,
To me it seemeth that they carry salt.”
The chief sent one in haste to learn their loading,
Who went like dust to Rustam and inquired:—
“O master of the caravan! inform me
What merchandise is hidden in thy packs,
That I may go and tell the castellan
And take his orders.”
Rustam answered him:—
“Go to the noble castellan and say:
‘They carry salt.’”
The messenger returned
And said: “They carry salt alone, my lord!”
The chief rose, glad and smiling, bade his men
Unbar the gate and let the strangers in.
So battle-loving Rustam with his folk
Approached the gate whence people hurried out
To welcome him. He kissed the ground before
The chieftain, paid him many compliments,
The chieftain said to Rustam: “Live for ever.
Be as the sun and as the shining moon.
I both accept and thank thee, worthy youth!”
Young Rustam entered the bázár and took
His caravan. The people flocked about him;
One gave a robe, another gold and silver,
And chaffered with him unsuspectingly.
At night brave Rustam and his warriors,
Armed for the fray, made for the castellan,
Who strove against them, but the Matchless one
Struck him a mace-blow on the head, and buried
His head and crown in dust. The tidings spread,
The people hastened to oppose the foe,
Night gloomed, blades flashed, and earth was like the ruby.
What with the mellay and the waves of blood
One would have said: “A sunset sky hath fallen.”
The peerless Rustam with his lasso, mace,
And sword destroyed the gallant foe; and when
The sun unveiled itself, and held the world
From earth to Pleiades, of all the garrison
Not one remained alive that was not wounded.
The brave Íránians entered every nook
And slaughtered all they found. The matchless Rustam
Saw in the citadel where room was scant
A building of hard stone with iron doors,
And having with his mace-blows shattered them
Full of dínárs. Astonied at the sight
He bit his lip; then to his chiefs he said:—
“Who ever would have thought of such a thing?
Good sooth no gold remaineth in the mines,
Or any pearl or jewel in the sea;
They lie out-spread within this treasury.”
Then Rustam wrote his sire a full report
Of what had passed: “First blessing be on Him,
Who is the Lord of serpent, ant, and sun,
Of Venus, Mars, and Sol, and heaven above.
May He bless Zál, the hero of Zábul,
The peerless paladin, the warriors' shelter,
The Íránians' stay, who setteth up on high
The flag of Káwa, who enthroneth Sháhs,
Who taketh thrones, him whose commandment reacheth
To sun and moon.
I came to Mount Sipand
By thy behest, and what a mount was there!
'Twas like the sky. When I had reached its foot
There came a greeting from the castellan,
And though I did according to his bidding
All things turned out as I would have them be.
I gave scant respite to the garrison,
Who have been slain or maimed or have escaped
By throwing all their fighting-gear away.
There are in sooth five hundred thousand loads
Of silver ingots and of standard gold.
Of raiment, tapestries, and movables
No one could tell the total though he counted
For days and months. What would the paladin?
May his steps prosper, may his mind be bright.”
The messenger came like a blast and gave
The letter to the paladin. That chieftain
Read and exclaimed: “Praise to those noble ones.”
Thou wouldst have said: “The news will make him young.”
He wrote a full reply, first praising God
And then proceeding thus: “I have perused
That tale of triumph and poured out my soul
In joy. Such fights become thee well, my son!
Who though a boy hast played the man, illumed
The soul of Narímán and burned his foes.
To carry off the spoil I have sent camels
By thousands. Having read this mount with speed;
Thine absence grieveth me. Pack all the best,
Then fire the hold in vengeance.”
Rustam read
The letter well content, then chose the choicest
Among the signet-rings, swords, casques, and belts,
As well as pearls and jewels fit for kings,
And figured pieces of brocade of Chín,
And sent them to his sire. The caravan
Set forth while he set fire to Mount Sipand,
Whose reek rose skyward, then he turned away
Light-hearted and went home like rushing wind.
When Zál had heard: “The world-illuming chieftain
Hath come,” the folk prepared to welcome him
And decorated all the streets and quarters.
Arose the din of brazen clarions,
Of cymbals, trumpets, and of Indian bells
As eager Rustam fared toward Zál's palace
And coming bowed to earth before his mother,
Who blessed his face and kissed his chest and shoulders,
While Zál the chief embraced his son and bade
A scattering of largess to be made.
The famous chief sent the good news to Sám,
With many gifts to him and every one.
Whenas the letter came to Sám his cheeks
Bloomed like a rose in his exceeding joy.
He made a feast like jocund spring, bestowed
And talked of Rustam much. He wrote to Zál:—
“It is not wonderful that lions' whelps
Prove brave. A clever archimage may take
One ere it suck and bring it up with men,
Yet will he fear it when its teeth have grown,
For though it never saw its mother's dugs
'Twill throw back to the instincts of its sire.
No wonder then that Rustam should inherit
Zál's prowess, and that Lions seek his aid
In times of enterprise.”
He sealed the letter
And gave it to the messenger, who went
To Zál therewith clad in his robe of honour.
The paladin rejoiced at what that youth
Of tender years had done, and all the world
From earth to Aries had hopes in him.
Now will I speak once more of Minúchihr,
The kindly Sháh, who when his end drew near
Gave to his son these counsels: lend thine ear.
Now Minúchihr, twice sixty years being sped,
Prepared to pass, because the astrologers
Informed him that the royal Grace would fade:—
Hath come, God grant thee a good place with Him.
Consider what behoveth to be done
And let not death surprise thee, so make ready
For yielding up thy body to the clay.”
When he had heard the wise men's words he changed
The fashion of his court, told the archmages
And chiefs the secrets of his heart, then gave
Naudar much counsel, saying thus: “This throne
Is but a jest, a breath, no lasting thing
To set the heart upon. In six score years
Now passed I girt my loins for stress and travail
And used to find much pleasure and content
In labour at the bidding of the Sháh.
I girt me with the Grace of Farídún,
And by his counsels every loss proved gain.
I took on Salm and on the brutal Túr335 Due vengeance for my grandsire—great Íraj—
I cleansed the world of its iniquities
And built me many a city, many a fortress;
Yet thou mightst say that I had never seen
The world, such am I! and my tale of years
Is blank. A tree whose leaves and fruit are bitter,
Should it not rather die than still live on?
Now after I have borne such pain and travail
I leave the throne of kingship and the treasure
To thee. As Farídún once gave to me,
So give I thee, the crown worn by the Sháhs.
Thou must be sometimes wolf and sometimes sheep.
The offspring of Pashang will be thy bane,
And from Túrán will be thy straitening.
When any question shall arise, my son!
Seek aid from Zál and Sám and this new Tree
Now burgeoning, sprung from the root of Zál.
He will tread down Túrán and take upon him
To avenge thee.”
While he spake he wept. Naudar
Bewailed him bitterly, and thus the Sháh,
Free from disease, unvexed by any pains,
Closed with a last cold sigh his eyes and faded.
So passed that famous Sháh, well graced in all,
Whose tale is left as his memorial.
Naudar rules oppressively and the people revolt, but Sám succeeds in restoring order. Pashang, the king of Túrán, however, takes the opportunity of the death of Minúchihr to send an army to invade Írán under the command of his son Afrásiyáb. The Íránians are defeated, and Naudar, with many of his chiefs, is taken prisoner. Afrásiyáb kills Naudar and assumes the crown of Írán. Ighríras, the brother of Afrásiyáb, traitorously releases the Íránian prisoners, the Íránians under Káran and Zál obtain independent successes over the Túránians, and Afrásiyáb puts his brother Ighríras to death.
In this reign the connection between the Sháhnáma and the Vedas temporarily seems to be severed, and we are unable to trace the names of the principal heroes further back than the Zandavasta, where most of them are to be found. The story of the reign is one of disaster for Írán; and the ancient feud, originating in the murder of Íraj, receives a new impetus through the execution of Ighríras by his brother Afrásiyáb. We are accordingly here introduced to the royal line of Túrán, of which we have heard nothing since the slaying of Túr by Minúchihr, and to its collateral branch, the heroic family of Wísa, which plays such an important part in this and future reigns, and corresponds on the Túránian side to the family of Sám on the Íránian.337 The most important personality is that of Afrásiyáb— the protagonist of the Túránian race, and the arch-enemy of Írán, through the reigns of successive Sháhs. He is the second in the trinity of evil spirits which, according to Zoroastrian belief, was created by Áhriman to vex the Íránian race, the first being Zahhák, and the third apparently Alexander the Great.338 In the part of the extant Zandavasta known as the Zamyád Yast, which has been termed “an abridged Sháhnáma,”338a Afrásiyáb, or Frangrasyan, as he is there called, is described as making several attempts to seize the kingly Glory or Grace which was the peculiar possession of the Sháhs, and which Zahhák himself sought in vain. Afrásiyáb, however, is recorded to have been once successful, not, as one might suppose, on the occasion in the present reign, but in that of Kai Káús, when the latter was taken prisoner by the king of Hámávarán.338b In the Bundahish we find indications that Afrásiyáb was originally, like Zahhák, a water-stealing fiend; but he cannot be traced further back than the Zandavasta, and his depredations are confined to stealing away the rivers of Írán.338c It is recognised in the Zandavasta that there are good men in all countries, in those of the elder sons of Farídún—Túrán and Rúm—as well as in that of his youngest-born—Írán.338d We have an instance of this in the case of Ighríras—the brother of Afrásiyáb—who being originally a good spirit or demi-god is naturally supposed to favour the Íránians at the cost of his own countrymen, and is held up as a sort of martyr in the poem. In the Zandavasta the murder of Ighríras is looked upon as one of the motives for vengeance on Afrásiyáb,338e while in the Bundahish we read: “When Frásíyáv made Mánúskíhar, with the Íránians, captive in the mountain-range of Padashkhvár, and scattered ruin and want among them, Aghrérad begged a favour of God, and he obtained the benefit that the army and champions of the Íránians were saved by him from that distress. Frásíyáv slew Aghrérad for that fault.”338f The story in the Sháhnáma is told not of Minúchihr but of Naudar. The mountain-range is that to the south of the Caspian.
The mourning over, Sháh Naudar exalted
His royal crown o'er Saturn and gave audience
Upon the throne of Minúchihr, bestowing
Drachms and dínárs upon the troops. The nobles
Did reverence with their faces in the dust,
And said: “We are the bondslaves of the Sháh,
Our eyes and hearts are full of love for thee.”
But matters changed, the monarch proved unjust,
Laments went up on all sides, and men's heads
Were whitened by the Sháh. He blotted out
The customs of his sire and grew severe
To chief and archimage, spurned gracious ways
Bold spirits claimed the realm, and tumults followed.
The unjust Sháh in terror wrote to Sám,
Then at Sagsár within Mázandarán,
And first invoked the Maker of the world,
The Lord of Venus, Mars, and Sol, who made
Both ant and elephant: “Naught is beyond
His power, or too minute for His regard.
Now may the Master of the sun and moon
Have mercy on the soul of Minúchihr,
The Sháh, through whom the glorious crown grew bright,
My predecessor on so great a throne;
And may as many blessings light on Sám,
The hero, as the clouds shed drops of rain;
May that redoubted glorious chief be sound
In heart and mind, and sorrowless in soul.
The paladin of earth should know, I ween,
All matters close or open. Minúchihr,
Before he closed his eyes, spake much of Sám,
And I too have a warm supporter in him,
Who—paladin and favourite—watched over
My father's realm, illuming throne and crown.
Now things have reached this pass that save thou takest
Thy vengeful mace the throne will be abolished.”
Whenas the letter came Sám sighed. At cockcrow
The sound of tymbals rose within the court,
And from the Kargasárs he marched a host
Such that the green sea had been lost therein.
The approaching troops, dismounted when near Sám,
And spake with him at large of all the actions
Done by Naudar, and how he was unjust
And left his father's footsteps recklessly.
“He hath made earth a desert,” they protested,
“His fortune that was wakeful is asleep.
He walketh not in wisdom's way, the Grace
Of God hath left him. How would it be if Sám
With his shrewd mind were seated on the throne?
His fortune would regenerate the world,
The country and its throne would both be his.
We all would serve him and would pledge our lives
For fealty to him.”
But Sám replied:—
“Would God approve? Naudar hath royal blood
And sitteth belted on the royal seat.
Could I lay hands upon the realm and crown?
Impossible! One should not hear such words.
Would any chief dare say this publicly?
If but a daughter of Sháh Minúchihr
Sat crowned upon the golden throne the dust
Would be my couch whence I should joy to gaze
Upon her. If Naudar hath left the way
Trod by his sire it hath not been for long,
As to be hard to furbish. I will bring
The Grace back and make all desire his love.
The dust of Minúchihr shall be my throne,
The print of his son's horseshoe be my crown.
We will speak much with him, and by our counsel
Bring him good fortune. Ye! repent yourselves
Of what hath passed and tender fresh allegiance.
Unless Almighty God and Sháh Naudar
Shall pardon you, the Sháh's wrath is your portion
On earth, and fire your dwelling-place hereafter.”
The chiefs repented and made fealty
Afresh; that prosperous-footed paladin
Made earth grow young throughout. When Sám had reached
The presence of the Sháh he kissed the ground.
The Sháh descended from the throne, embraced
His captain, seating him upon the throne
With greetings and unbounded compliments.
All offered their excuses to Naudar,
And bare themselves as subjects. From each province
Came tax and tribute out of fear of Sám,
The swift of wrath. Naudar sat on the throne
In splendour and in undisturbed repose,
Till in the presence the chief paladin
Arose and asked permission to depart,
Threw wide the door of counsel to the Sháh
And told again the goodly histories
Of glorious Farídún and Sháh Húshang
And Minúchihr, the lustre of the throne,
And how they ruled earth justly and gave alms
And would not countenance iniquity.
Sám brought the monarch's wayward heart to reason,
Warmed the chiefs' hearts toward him, rendering
All justice and injustice at his hands
Acceptable, and having said his say
Both to the nobles and their sovereign
Went with a robe of honour from Naudar,
With crown and throne and signet-ring and slaves,
With steeds whose furniture was wrought of gold
And two gold goblets all a-brim with rubies.
Revolved not o'er Naudar in peace and love.
News of Sháh Minúchihr's decease, and how
Things fared ill with Naudar, came to Túrán,
Whose folk held commune with the malcontents.
Pashang, the Turkman ruler, also heard
And contemplated war. He spake at large
About his sire Zádsham, talked big of Túr,
The throne of Minúchihr, his troops, his warriors,
His princes and his realm, then summoned all
The captains and grandees, as Ighríras,
Bármán, and Garsíwaz, that raging Lion
Kulbád, and generals like skilful Wísa,
The leader of the host. He also called
His son Afrásiyáb, who came in haste,
To whom he said concerning Salm and Túr:—
“We may not hide revenge beneath our skirt,
For all whose brains are level in their heads
Knowhow the Íránians have entreated us,
And always girded up their loins for ill.
Now is the time for action and revenge,
The time to wash the blood-tears from our cheeks.
What say ye now? What answer do ye make?
Advise me well.”
His words inspired Afrásiyáb
With zeal, he bragged before his sire with loins
Girt up and vengeance in his heart: “To fight
With Lions is my work, I match myself
Against Naudar, and if Zádsham had warred
He had not left the world in such ill plight,
But had become the master of Írán.
Now whatsoe'er my grandsire left undone
Of vengeance-seeking, fight, and stratagem,
Is left for my sharp sword to execute.
The time of turmoil is the time for me.”
Pashang grew keen for battle as he marked
The lofty stature of Afrásiyáb,
His elephantine might, his breast and arms
So lion-like, his shadow stretching miles,
His tongue a trenchant scimitar, his heart
An ocean and his hand a raining cloud.
Pashang commanded him to draw the sword
Of war, and lead an army to Írán.
A chief whose son is worthy of his name
May raise his own head to the orb of day,
For afterwards, when he hath passed away,
The son will keep alive the father's fame.
Afrásiyáb, high-wrought and full of vengeance,
Went forth and opening the treasury
Abundantly equipped his warriors;
But when all things were ready, Ighríras
The counsellor, heart-musing, sought his sire,
For thinking is the business of the heart,
And spake on this wise: “Mine experienced father,
The highest of the Turkman race in valour!
Sám, son of Narímán, is general;
There are besides Kishwád, the brave Káran,
And other men of name among the folk.
Thou know'st what Salm and valiant Túr endured
Through that old wolf and sworder Minúchihr,
And yet Zádsham, my grandsire and our king,
Whose helmet touched the circle of the moon,
Ne'er spake a word of such a war, or read
The book of vengeance in the time of peace.
'Tis better for us to restrain ourselves,
Because this madness will confound the realm.”
Pashang said: “That brave crocodile, Afrásiyáb,
Is as a lion on a hunting-day,
An elephant of war in battle-tide.
Call him a bastard that would not avenge
His grandsire's wrongs. Depart forthwith and counsel
Afrásiyáb in matters great and small.
So when the crumple-skirted clouds are gone,
When rains have drenched the wastes, when hill and plain
Give pasture for the steeds, when herbage riseth
Above our warriors' necks and all the world
Is green with corn, then camp upon the plain;
Midst rose and verdure bear a gladsome heart,
And lead the whole host onward to Ámul;
Tread Dahistán beneath the horses' hoofs,
Speed and incarnadine the streams with blood.
Thence Minúchihr departed to the war
To take revenge on Túr, thence did his powers
Advance against us like a murky cloud,
And by that token it is your turn now
To send the dust up from their nobles' heads.
The refuge of the army of Írán
Was Minúchihr, and he adorned the throne.
They are not worth a pinch of dust. I fear not
Naudar, who is but young and raw. Káran
Will be your foe, and one more warrior—
Garshásp. May ye so treat them on the field
As to rejoice our fathers' souls, and burn
Our foemen's hearts.”
The prince said: “Blood shall run
Along in streams ere my revenge is done.”
When herbage made the plain like painted silk
The warriors of Túrán girt up their loins;
An army marched forth from Túrán and Chín
With mace-men from the Western lands—a host
Without a middle or an end; withal
The fortune of Naudar was young no longer.
As these approached Jíhún he heard the news
And drew forth to the plain toward Dahistán.
Káran, who loved the fray, was general,
Behind him came Naudar, the king of kings,
And all the world was filled with bruit of warfare.
The host approaching Dahistán concealed
The sun in dust. They pitched the camp-enclosure
Was theirs, because Afrásiyáb, who then
Was in Irmán, sent thirty thousand warriors,
With Shamásás and Khazarwán as leaders,
Toward Zábul to take revenge on Zál,
For “Sám,” they heard, “is dead, and Zál is busied
About the obsequies.”
Afrásiyáb
Was pleased, perceived that fortune was awake,
Marched forth to Dahistán, and pitched against it.
Who knoweth how to reckon up his host?
Go count a thousand o'er four hundred times.
Thou wouldst have said: “The sands and uplands
seethe,
The wilderness is naught but ants and locusts.”
With Sháh Naudar were seven score thousand men,
And certès they were warlike cavaliers.
Afrásiyáb surveyed them and despatched
By night a cameleer to bear Pashang
A letter: “The expected good hath come,
Naudar's whole host is as a quarry to us,
And Sám is dead. I feared none in Írán
But him. His death alloweth our revenge.
Zál is engaged upon the obsequies
And hath not foot or feather for the fight.
By this time Shamásás is in Nímrúz
Enthroned and crowned. Prompt action well advised
Is best for us; occasions will not wait.”
Toward Pashang, that king of sunlight grace.
The van appeared in front of Dahistán
As morn rose o'er the hills. The armies camped
Two leagues apart in warlike pomp. A Turkman,
By name Bármán—one who bade sleepers wake—
Approached, spied out the whole Íránian host
And viewed the camp-enclosure of Naudar,
Returned, reported to his chief, and said:—
“How long must all our prowess be concealed?
Now if the king permit I will engage
Our foemen like a lion. They shall see
My skill and know no hero but myself.”
“But if in this,” said prudent Ighríras,
“Some misadventure should befall Bármán,
Our marchlords would be cowed, our folk discouraged.
Nay, choose we rather one of small account,
For whom we need not bite our nails and lips.”
Then lowered Afrásiyáb, ashamed to hear
Such words, and frowning spake thus to Bármán:—
“Put on thine armour and string up thy bow;
It will not come to using teeth and nails.”
Bármán pricked forth and shouted to Káran:—
“In all the army of the famed Naudar
Hast thou a man who will contend with me?”
Káran looked round upon his mighty men
For one to volunteer, but none responded
Save valiant old Kubád. The prudent chief
Was grieved and troubled when his brother spake,
With that great host, that, with so many young
To fight, one old man only volunteered.
Vexed to the heart about Kubád, Káran
Addressed him thus in presence of the chiefs:—
“At thine age thou shouldst not contend with one
Fresh, ardent, young, and daring, like Bármán,
Who hath a lion's heart, and head sun-high.
Thou art an honoured chieftain, and the centre
Of counsel to our Sháh. If thy white locks
Grow red with blood our bravest will despair.”
Mark his reply in presence of the troops:—
“The rolling sky hath given me enough.
Know, brother! that the body is for death;
My head and neck were meant to wear a helm.
My heart hath been in anguish from the time
Of blesséd Minúchihr until this day.
No mortal passeth into heaven alive,
Man is death's quarry; one the scimitar
Destroyeth mid the mellay, and the vulture
And lion tear his corpse; another's life
Is ended on his bed. Beyond all question
We must depart, and if I quit the world
My tall and lusty brother is still safe.
Make me a royal charnel in your love,
Give musk, rose-water, camphor for my head,
My body to the place of endless sleep.
This do, live peacefully, and trust in God.”
Like some fierce elephant. Bármán exclaimed:—
“Now hath fate put thy head within my reach.
Well hadst thou held aloof, for time itself
Would have thy life.”
“The sky,” Kubád replied,
“Gave me my share long since, and he whose hour
Hath come will have to die where'er he be:
That time is not ill-timed at any time.”
He spake and urged his sable steed, denying
His ardent heart all rest. The two contended
From dawn till shadows lengthened. In the end
The victory was Bármán's, who as he rode
Hurled at Kubád a dart which struck his hip
And pierced his belt. That ancient lion-heart
Fell headlong and so passed. Then with cheeks
flushed
With pride and satisfaction came Bármán
Before Afrásiyáb, who gave him gifts
Unprecedented as from king to liege.
Káran the battle-lover, when Kubád
Was slain, drew out his army and attacked.
The two hosts seemed as 'twere two seas of Chín,
Thou wouldst have said: “Earth shaketh.”
Then Káran
The warrior rushed forth and Garsíwaz,
Huge as an elephant, confronted him.
The chargers neighed, the sun and shining moon
Were hidden by the dust-clouds of the host,
Shone mid the dust—dust like a rainy cloud
Wherethrough vermilion droppeth from the sun,
A cloud whose marrow thrilled with tymbal-din,
While liquid crimson drenched the falchions' souls.
Where'er Káran urged on his steed the steel
Flashed like Ázargashasp, and thou hadst said:—
“His Diamond sheddeth Coral.” Nay, shed souls.
Afrásiyáb beheld and led his troops
Against Káran, and with insatiate hearts
They fought till night rose o'er the hills, and then
Káran withdrew the host to Dahistán.
With heart distracted by his brother's death
He came to the pavilion of Naudar,
Who on beholding him let tears down fall
From weary eyelids that had seen no sleep,
And said: “Since Sám the horseman died my soul
Hath not grieved thus. Live thou for evermore,
And sunlike be the spirit of Kubád.
A day of joy and then a day of grief,
Such is the wont and fashion of the world!
No fostering will rescue us from death;
Earth's only cradle is the sepulchre.”
“I have resigned to death,” Káran replied,
“My doughty body even from my birth.
'Twas Farídún that put my helmet on
That I might tread the earth to avenge Íraj,
Nor laid aside the sword of steel. My brother—
That sage—is dead. I too shall die in harness;
But be of cheer, Afrásiyáb to-day
Was straitened, and he called up his reserves.
He saw me with mine ox-head mace and eagerly
Attacked me; eye to eye I fronted him.
He used some magic and my keen eyes lost
Their vision, night came on and all was dark,
Mine arm was tired of striking. Thou hadst said:—
‘The End hath come.’ The sky was overcast,
And we were forced to quit the battlefield
Because the troops were spent and it was dark.”
The opposing hosts reposed a while, and when
The morrow dawned began the strife again.
The Íránians drew up for battle royal,
And what with thundering drum and blaring trumpet
Thou wouldst have said: “The earth is tottering.”
Afrásiyáb, when he beheld, arrayed
His army opposite. “The sun hath set,”
Thou wouldst have said, earth was so dark with dust
Of horsemen. Mid the war-cries none could tell
A mountain from a plain, host grappled host
And blood ran like a river where Káran
Towered till Naudar approached and challenged him.
They strove together, spear confused with spear;
No serpents ever writhed together so;
How could kings battle thus?
They fought till night
And then Afrásiyáb was conqueror,
For more were stricken on the Íránian side
And still the foemen's battle was unbroken.
The Íránians turned their faces helplessly,
Abandoning their camp upon the waste.
Naudar was grieved that fortune should besmirch
His crown with dust, and when the tymbals ceased
He sent for Tús, who came with Gustaham,
All sighs and grief. “What pain is in my heart!”
He cried, recalling what his dying sire
Foretold: “An army from Túrán and Chín
Will come against Írán, grieve thee and bring
Disaster on thy troops.”
“The words are now
Fulfilled,” he said, “the arrogant have triumphed;
But who e'er read in tales of famous men
Of any that led forth such Turkman hosts?
Go ye to Párs to fetch the women-folk
And bear them through the passes to Alburz.
Take unperceived the road to Ispahán,
A second wound. Some haply of the seed
Of Farídún may scape of all our troops.
I know not if I shall behold you more
Because to-night we make our last attempt.
Have scouts out night and day to watch events;
If they give evil tidings of the host
And say: ‘The Glory of the king of kings
Is dimmed,’ grieve not too much at heart; high heaven,
Since it had being, hath been ever thus.
Time bringeth this to dust while that enjoyeth
A royal crown. Death, whether violent
Or natural, is one—a throb then peace.”
Naudar with tears of blood embraced his sons.
The royal pair proceeded to depart,
But he remained and with a heavy heart.
The host reposed two days, but when the sun
Rose on the third the Sháh was forced to fight.
Then like a foaming sea Afrásiyáb;
Dashed at the army of Naudar, the war-cry
Rose from the camp-enclosures mid the din
Of trump and Indian bell, the tymbals sounded
Before the Sháh's tent, and the warriors donned
Their iron helmets. None had thought of sleep
Within the camp of great Afrásiyáb;
The swords and double-headed darts. The earth
Was filled by armoured men with heavy maces.
Káran was marshal of the central host
Whereto the Sháh and he were towers of strength.
The Sháh's left wing the hero Talímán
Claimed for himself, and bold Shápúr the right.
From morning till the sun had left the dome,
Hills, plains, and wastes were indistinguishable;
Thou wouldst have said: “The sword's heart is enlarged
And earth is groaning underneath the steeds.”
But while the javelins put the earth in shade
Defeat drew ever nearer to Naudar,
And as his fortunes sank the Turkmans' rose.
Upon the side where bold Shápúr was stationed
The ranks were broken and the troops dispersed,
But he maintained his post till he was slain.
The Íránians' fortune turned away its head,
And many another chieftain of the host
Was killed or wounded on the battlefield.
Now when the monarch and Káran perceived
The stars averse, they fled before the foe
To Dahistán, and there maintained themselves,
Cut off from all outside it. Night and day
They fought in the approaches. Passed a while.
Now since Naudar had refuged in the hold,
Where horsemen could not act, Afrásiyáb
Bethought him of the chieftain Kurúkhán,
Of Wísa's race, and bade him lead them forth
Along the desert-route to Párs, for there
The Íránians' homes were situate, and men
In trouble make for home. Káran heard this
And, moved with jealousy and grieved at heart,
Went in as 'twere a leopard to Naudar
And said: “Behold how base Afrásiyáb
Is dealing with the monarch of Írán!
He hath despatched a countless host of troops
Against our warriors' women. Should he get them
Disaster will befall our men of name
And we shall hide our faces in disgrace;
So Kurúkhán must be attacked forthwith,
And by the leave of the victorious Sháh
I will pursue with speed. Thou hast a river,
Provisions, and right zealous warriors.
Stay thou; be not concerned. Thou canst defend
Thyself with ease, so play the lion's part,
For monarchs should be brave.”
Naudar replied:—
“Not so, the host hath none like thee to lead them.
'Twas for our homes that Tús and Gustaham
Went forth at beat of drum, and they will reach
The women in good time, such is their speed,
And take the needful steps.”
The mighty men
Went to the sleeping-chamber of the Sháh
To purge their hearts of sorrow for a while.
When Sháh Naudar was well bemused he went
Behind his curtains, meditating vengeance,
And those brave chiefs—the Íránian cavaliers—
Departed in disorder from the court
To assemble at the quarters of Káran,
With eyes like winter-clouds; with much debate,
They all agreed: “We must set out for Párs
Forthwith or else our wives and little ones
Will all be broken-hearted slaves, all captured
Without a struggle, and who then will wield
The spear upon the plain or rest in peace?”
Now when these three—Shídúsh, Kishwád, Káran—
Had taken counsel for the whole emprise,
And half the night had passed, they made them ready
To sally forth. At dawn with heavy hearts
They reached what men in those days called “White Castle.”354 There found they Guzhdaham the castellan
Together with his watchful warriors
Beleaguered by Bármán, who held the road
With troops and elephants and valiant chiefs,
And erst had wrung the heart of brave Káran
Who, eager to avenge his brother's blood,
Assumed his mail, prepared his men for action,
And like a lion met him on the way.
Now when Káran saw mid the dust of fight
That man of blood he grappled with his foe,
All lion-like, not giving time for ruse,
But closed at once, invoking God for succour,
And pierced the Turkman's girdle with a javelin
Through mail and buckle. From his charger's back
Bármán fell headlong, the bright orb of day
Turned dark to him, his army's heart was broken,
His soldiers fled. Káran the chieftain then
Went on toward Párs with all his valiant men.
Naudar, on hearing that Káran had gone,
Sped after him, all instant to escape
The evil day, lest heaven should trample him.
Afrásiyáb gat tidings that Naudar
Had sought the waste, collected troops, and followed
As 'twere a lion. Drawing near he found
The foemen ready for a running fight,
And as he marched mused how to take the head
That wore the crown. They fought all night till
noonday,
And earth was dark with warriors' dust. At length
The Sháh was taken with twelve hundred nobles;
Thou wouldst have said: “Their place on earth is
void.”
Strive as they might to flee they were ensnared
Put into bonds the captured host and Sháh.
Though thou shouldst sit in conclave with the sky
Yet will its revolutions grind thee down.
It giveth majesty and throne and crown,
It giveth too despair and misery.
It playeth friend and foe, and proffereth thee,
At times a kernel and at times a shell;
It is a conjurer that knoweth well
The sleights of every form of jugglery.
Although thy head may touch the clouds, it must
Have in the end its place amid the dust.
Afrásiyáb gave orders: “Search,” he said,
“The caves, the hills, the waters, and the waste
That fierce Káran may not elude our troops.”
But hearing that Káran had gone to save
The women he was furious. “Let Bármán,”
He bade, “speed forth and lion-like pursue
Káran, and bring him me a prisoner.”
They told the monarch how Káran had served
Bármán, and brought him from his steed to dust;
Whereat Afrásiyáb was sorely grieved,
Food, rest, and sleep were bitterness to him,
And thus he spake to Wísa: “Let the death
Of this thy son steel thine own heart, for when
Before his spear. Go with a valiant host
Well furnished, and take vengeance for the lost.”356
So Wísa, chief of the Túránian troops,
Departed with a noble, vengeful army,
And saw before he overtook Káran
His loved son lying slain, his banner rent,
His kettledrums o'erturned, his shroud of blood
Like tulips, and his face like sandarach;
While warriors and chieftains of Túrán
Were flung in numbers with him on the route.
The sight grieved Wísa so that thou hadst said:—
“His heart is rent by anguish,” while his eyes
Wept scalding tears. He sped to catch Káran.
Thus like a torrent Wísa rushed along
And shed calamity throughout the world.
“He marcheth on in triumph gloriously,”
Such was the news that reached Káran, who sent
His Arab horsemen forward to Nímrúz
And followed them himself—the Sun of earth.
Now when from Párs he reached the waste, a dust-cloud
Appeared upon his left, and from the dust
The sable flag emerged, while from the van
The Turkman chief led on his host. Both armies
Arrayed their ranks; the warriors sought the fray.
“Gone to the winds are crown and throne of greatness.
All from Kannúj up to Kábulistán,
Ghaznín too, and Zábulistán, are ours:
Our throne is graven on their palaces,
Where wilt thou refuge since the Sháh is taken?”
The other said: “Káran am I, and cast
My blanket on the waters.357 Neither fear
Nor any idle rumour sent me forth.
I marched to fight thy son, and having taken
Revenge on him will take it now on thee,
And show thee how brave warriors fight.”
They urged
Their chargers on, the clarions blared, dust rose
To left and right and moon and sky waxed dim.
Men grappled eagerly and showered blood.
Káran and Wísa met once in the mellay,
Where many a chief had fallen, yet Káran
Pursued not. Wísa, broken by misfortune,
Appeared before Afrásiyáb in pain
And weeping for his son that had been slain.
The expedition from Irmán went forth
Against Zábul, and Shamásás advanced
Toward Sístán in haste, while Khazarwán,
With thirty thousand famous men—good swordsmen—
Marched warily as far as the Hirmund
With glaive and mace, and fortune at its height.
Now Zál was at the burial-place erecting
In pain and grief a charnel for his father,
While brave Mihráb, whose mind was on the alert,
Was in the city, and despatched an envoy
To Shamásás. When this man reached the camp
He gave his master's greetings, saying thus:—
“For ever may the monarch of Túrán
Continue bright of heart and wear the crown.
Zahhák the Arab was mine ancestor,
And little do I love mine overlord,
But by alliance have I purchased life
Because I saw no other course. At present
I dwell within the palace, ruling all
Zábulistán. When Zál went whelmed with grief
To bury Sám my heart rejoiced, and I
Will never see his face again. I ask
The famous paladin for time to send
Afrásiyáb a prudent cameleer;
'Twill shorten matters if he know my mind.
The tribute, and if he saith ‘Come,’ will stand
Before his throne, resign to him my realm,
And joy in him. I will not vex the paladin,
But send him every kind of hoarded wealth.”
Thus one hand held back Shamásás and one
Was stretched for help. He sent a messenger
And said: “Fly! Ply thy feathers and thy pinions,
Announce to Zál what thou hast seen, and say:—
‘Pause not to rub thy head but come at once,
For of the Turkman host two paladins,
Like leopard's claws, advanced to fight with me;
But when they were approaching the Hirmund
I put their feet in fetters of dínárs.
Now if thou waitest to draw breath but once
Our foes will have their will.’”
The envoy came
To Zál, whose heart forth with was all a-flame.